


More Than Just a Piece

by smoochfestmod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoochfestmod/pseuds/smoochfestmod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One arena, twelve schools, twenty four teenagers. Only one can emerge victorious. It's time for the 74th Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Just a Piece

**Author's Note:**

> This submission is part of HD Smoochfest on Livejournal. The theme this year is Media Remix, which invited participants to "remix" the story from a Book, Movie, or Television Show. The author/artist will be revealed at the end of the fest.
> 
> This was created for Prompt Number: B6  
> Original Work Name: The Hunger Games
> 
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Notes: I love The Hunger Games, so I jumped at the chance to write this prompt. I don't think you need to have read The Hunger Games to enjoy this. The title is from one of my favourite quotes from the book. Peeta: '...I keep wishing I could think of a way to ... to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games.'

The first of September. Usually, my most favourite day of the year, as weird as it sounds. The last day of the summer holidays; the first day of school. It dawned, crisp and bright, the autumn breeze rustling the crispy leaves as I made my way to King's Cross. To an outsider, it would seem like any other September the first. Quiet in the streets as children were wrestled into their school uniforms, no longer allowed to play in the streets from morning till night. The sun beamed down, still warm on my neck, but it didn't make me smile as it should—as it usually would.  
   
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were the same as always as I left, not bothering to waving me off, even though it might have been the last time they saw me. Dudley did mention that I didn't seem as excited as always for the end of the summer as we packed our stuff for school—I say packed, I packed my trunk as he simply threw his clothes down the stairs for his mum to iron and sort out. I didn't tell Dudley the reason for my mood. I couldn't be bothered. He wouldn't have understood; he'd have probably just made fun of it.  
   
I'd been looking forward to seeing my friends, of course. I'd only seen them twice over the holidays, what with Hermione visiting her family in France for weeks and Ron helping out in the twins' shop. I should have made sure to spend more time with them, though; they had exactly the same chances as me of getting reaped, after all. We should have all made time. I should have made the effort to see everyone else, too—Neville, Ginny, Dean, Seamus—we should have all made the effort. It could be any of us.  
   
It wasn't the same, this September the first, not by a long shot. It wouldn't be a normal school year, like our previous years. There was no way it could be, even if none of us were reaped. It was going to be a year from hell. There would be celebrations, of course, but they weren't going to be enjoyable, not with our classmates' lives on the line. I just knew it was going to be bad. Five years, I'd been—we'd all been—dreading this.  
   
It was time for the 74th Hunger Games.  
   
~  
   
For over 350 years, our world had followed the same archaic timetable. Every five years, a contest was held, with two children from the twelve main wizarding districts chosen to compete in a fight to the death. Any child aged between thirteen and seventeen could be plucked from school, taken to whichever district was hosting, and set upon each other as if they were animals. All in the name of entertainment.  
   
The majority of witches and wizards—older people, the ones not in danger of being reaped—saw it as nothing more than a bit of fun and games, a bit of enjoyment in their otherwise dull lives. Some people—the younger generation, mainly, those whose children were eligible for reaping—saw it as horrible, but a tradition nonetheless. It had happened for as long as anyone could remember and, as I'd overheard on more than a couple of occasions, they were firmly of the view that they'd been through it, so why the hell shouldn't we?  
   
We—the children with our lives on the line—saw it for what it was: barbaric, outdated and grotesque.  
   
A few witches and wizards over the years have tried to stop the Hunger Games, but to no avail—it was wizarding tradition, and as such, any opposition was shot down immediately. Professor McGonagall was one of the most outspoken advocates against the Games, but it didn't stop Britain—and Hogwarts—hosting the games.  
   
For the past year, the papers had been full of jubilation. Home advantage, they called it. Britain hadn't won for a good many years—Professor Dumbledore's own brother being the last Victor—and they were all sure that Hogwarts was finally going to emerge victorious.  
   
Merlin, I hoped they were right. As much as I hated the thought of dead teenagers, the thought of dead classmates—people I'd grown up with, spent most of my life with—made me feel physically sick. The last Games, I'd only been in the second year, I was ineligible to be reaped, and so just had to watch on the screens constantly playing in every room as Eloise Huntingdon and Oliver Wood were bludgeoned to death by a transfigured rock on Day Three. I hadn't spoken to Eloise once, but I knew Oliver. He was my bloody Quidditch captain, for Merlin's sake, and I had to watch him die. It wasn't right. And yet people simply talked about how 'at least they died together' and we just had to make do with a plaque on the Champion's Wall in the Great Hall, commemorating their lives.  
   
Now, the first and second years would be watching as one of us, maybe even me, died for their enjoyment.  
   
It was a simple process, the reaping. A large goblet was placed in the Great Hall, blue flames discouraging anyone from going near it. It didn't stop everyone of course, every Games a student or four tried to get their name out of the flames. It never worked, unfortunately. I could do with losing even a couple of my names.  
   
Third years, the first year of eligibility, had their names put in once. Fourth years, their names were put in three times. Fifth years, five times. Sixth years, ten times. And for us in the seventh year, we had our names put in that bloody Goblet of Fire a frightening fifteen times.  
   
~  
   
As I neared King's Cross, I could see students milling about amongst the Muggles, their trunks and owls going unnoticed in the rush hour. As I passed through the barrier, the sight of the Hogwarts Express didn't fill me with joy as it usually would. Ignoring the train, I looked around for my friends.  
   
I could instantly spot the first years, tiny as they were, nearly bursting with excitement at finally going to Hogwarts. The second years, too, were easily noticeable, chatting happily amongst themselves as their parents fussed over the clothes and trunks. As the students got older, their smiles slipped and the haunted looks appeared on their faces. Their parents hugging them for that touch too long.  
   
Apart from some smiles or waves from passing classmates, I was left alone. It had been many years since I'd had people staring at me or shaking my hand in awe. Once I'd started school and shown I wasn't anything special, they'd left me alone. Voldemort was dead and had been since I was a baby. I was old news, only called the bloody Boy Who Lived when the anniversary of my parents' death rolled around. It was nice; I bloody hated being the centre of attention.  
   
“Harry!”  
   
I whirled around at the sound of Hermione's voice, a genuine smile on my face for the first time in days. Always multitasking, Hermione managed to hug me and gesture Ron and Ginny over at the same time.  
   
“All right, mate?” Ron asked, slapping me on the back.  
   
Ginny barely had time to hug me before she went back to standing on her tiptoes, no doubt looking for Dean.  It wasn't long before the rest of our little circle joined us, all smiles and 'How was your summer?'s at first, before the cloud once again settled over us.  
   
“Ready for this?” Neville asked, gesturing to the train.  
   
“Might as well,” Seamus said. “They'd only drag us there if we didn't.”  
   
It was true. As I gratefully accepted a hug and a plastic-wrapped pack of sandwiches from Mrs Weasley, I knew if there was a chance that by simply not turning up it would stop our names going into the goblet, Mrs Weasley would take us all straight home with her without question.  
   
Over the years, some parents had tried to hide their children if they were of age in a Games year. Some children had even run away to hide, but either way they were always found and marched into school for the reaping by the Aurors, usually limping and sporting unhealed black eyes or broken noses. It was pointless to try. You just had hope. Hope that it wasn't you or one of your close friends reaped.  
   
As seventh years, we managed to get a carriage to ourselves and with a last wave from Mr and Mrs Weasley and a whoosh of steam, we were on our way to Hogwarts. It wasn't long before the maudlin atmosphere made way for Exploding Snap and the twins' newest range of sweets. It was nice; it felt like a normal journey to school, if even just for the five hours it would take to get there.  
   
“Harry, can we talk to you a minute?”  
   
I gave Dean my cards and went to join Hermione and the tiny boy by her side.  
   
“Hi, Dennis,” I said, shaking his trembling hand. “What's up?”  
   
A couple of years ago, Dumbledore had decided to pair older students with first years, to help them settle into Hogwarts. Dennis Creevey had been paired with me. Most students did the bare minimum to settle their charges in, but I liked the boy, I told him to come to me if he needed anything.  
   
Dennis did, as well. Whenever he gets overwhelmed, he knocks on my door and I try my best to help him out. He sometimes brings his friends along with him, but I don't mind. It's my way of giving back. I'd had so much help when I started Hogwarts—Fred, George,  _Oliver—_ it felt good to help someone in turn. Hermione called it a 'saving people thing'; I just liked helping the boy.  
   
“Harry,” Hermione said when Dennis didn't look like talking, “he's a third year now.”  
   
The frightened eyes, the trembling hands, the sheer look of horror—fuck, it hadn't even entered my head that someone younger might get reaped. He was so small, there was no chance! But, as I thought back to the last Games, that tiny girl from China, she had been thirteen. And she'd lasted less than ten minutes.  
   
Pasting on a smile, I sat down, pulling Dennis to sit beside me. “Is that what you're worried about?”  
   
“What if it's me?” Dennis finally said after minutes of staring out of the window.  
   
“It won't be, so don't worry. You only get one name. All of us,” I said, sweeping my arm around the carriage, “we have a lot more names in. I wouldn't worry so much. Just,” I added, trying not to vomit, “try to enjoy the Games.”  
   
“I wish I was a Muggle, like my dad and Colin,” Dennis said sadly. “Then I wouldn't have to be a wizard.”  
   
At that moment, as I watched him traipse back off to his friends, I wished that too.  
   
~  
   
“Welcome back to Hogwarts!” Dumbledore stood at the front of the hall, arms spread wide and a huge smile on his face. “And what a special year it is! Before we get to the festivities, please welcome the newest students. We have a sorting to do!”  
   
Professor McGonagall led the tiny first years between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables as she did every year, only this year her stony face overshadowed the looks of amazement on their little faces. It strangely warmed me to see it, her displeasure at the 'festivities'.  
   
I ignored the sorting and talked Quidditch with Ron and Seamus, like we did every year, only clapping when my house mates did. The only difference was the absence of Hermione's elbow in my ribs to get me to pay attention.  
   
“Tonight, of course, is a special evening for us in Hogwarts. We have a marvellous feast ahead of us, and afterwards, we choose our Champions for the 74th Hunger Games!”  
   
Every student instantly silenced and every head turned to the Goblet of Fire at the side of the teacher's table. Hermione had done the maths and told us the chances of getting reaped. I didn't want to know the numbers. I just knew that if it wasn't me, there was a bloody good chance it would be someone I loved.  
   
“I know it's exciting, but let us eat first!”  
   
With a wave of his hands, the tables were filled with the most delicious looking food I'd ever seen. It was a shame I had no appetite. I just wanted to get the reaping over and done with, and finally  _know_.  
   
Some of my fellow students obviously felt the same as me, as they simply stared at their plates, picking at their food. Others—including Ron—stuffed their faces as if it was their last meal. Which, it could well have been. In Ron's words, “Might as well eat; it's not going to change anything.”  
   
As the plates cleared away, my insides squirmed, and it had nothing to do with hunger—well,  _Hunger_. Never mind, I was nervous. Simple as that.  
   
Dumbledore stood up again, moving around to the front of the table and towards the goblet.  
   
“This year is a special year,” he began with a smile, “for the first time in sixty years, Hogwarts is hosting the Hunger Games!”  
   
He paused, as if expecting applause, but after long seconds of silence, he started again.  
   
“As always, please welcome, to assist our Champions in any way he can, our last Victor, Aberforth Dumbledore!”  
   
At Aberforth's appearance, there was a smattering of applause. We might hate the games, but it's not every day you see a Victor. And he was basically the Champions' only hope in getting along in the Games. It was up to him to teach us strategies and it was he who toured around Britain to get gifts for the Champions.  
   
Aberforth didn't talk, he simply nodded his head, his distaste for the proceedings clear to see. That and his constant sipping from his hip flask, which, if the rumours were true, contained more than pumpkin juice.  
   
Dumbledore still wittered on about traditions and the history of the Games, but I tuned him out. I didn't need to hear it all again; I'd spent the summer reading up on it, preparing myself.  
   
“Without further ado,” Dumbledore said, his voice amplified, “let us have our first Champion.”  
   
A collective intake of breath was the only sound that could be heard over the slight whooshing of the flames. A tiny piece of yellowish parchment flew out and Dumbledore caught it without faltering.  
   
“Hogwarts' first Champion is...”  
   
A few whimpers could be heard as Dumbledore stretched out the announcement.  
   
“...Draco Malfoy!”  
   
A scream pierced through the air as Pansy threw her arms around Draco. I couldn't believe it. I wasn't friends with Draco; the houses didn't tend to mingle that much, but he was in most of my classes. I sat on the same table as him in Potions, for Merlin's sake.  
   
Draco, for his part, looked to be in shock. He hadn't moved—he couldn't really, with Pansy clinging to him—and Snape had to come down from the top table to escort him to Dumbledore's side. Poor sod.  
   
I wasn't used to seeing Draco look so scared. He was a Malfoy, and I was used to seeing him acting as if he was better than everybody else. I  _liked_ that about him. Seeing him as he was on that stage, not making eye contact with anybody else, it wasn't him. He should be looking down on us—literally for once—and showing everybody that he was going to win.  
   
I felt sad; I would miss his smug face whenever Snape set us hard potions. I would miss him belittling the Hufflepuffs and making sarcastic comments about us Gryffindors. I'd miss  _him_. Ginny always made fun of me for fancying him; maybe she'd stop now.  
   
“A strong seventh year!” Dumbledore said as he caught the second parchment with a flourish. “Congratulations, Mr Malfoy.”  
   
Draco looked like he might vomit.  
   
“And for our second Champion,” Dumbledore said, ignoring the green tinge to Draco's cheeks and the second collective intake of breath, “please put your hands together for...”  
   
Dumbledore actually looked a little green himself as he read the name on the parchment.  
   
“Dennis Creevey.”  
   
Silence reigned in the hall as all eyes turned to the Gryffindor table, and especially to the now-shaking boy who looked even younger than his thirteen years as he cowered in his seat.  
   
No.  _No no no._  I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I  _told him_  not to worry. I was supposed to look out for him. He's only a  _boy_. Before I knew what I was doing, before I had time to think about it, I was on my feet, reaching Dennis in a second. Dennis started to stand up, but I pushed him back down into his seat.  
   
Raising my hand in the air, I uttered the four words I'd never  _ever_  thought I'd say.  
   
“I volunteer as Champion.”  
   
There was a few seconds of silence before the entire Great Hall erupted. Shocked gasps, confused, panicked shouts; it was chaos. I felt oddly calm. I'd spent the past five years hoping and praying I'd never get reaped and then I'd bloody volunteered, yet it felt right. Looking down into the teary-eyed face of Dennis, I knew I'd done the right thing.  
   
“SILENCE!”  
   
Dumbledore's booming shout worked instantly. Students stopped their shouting and talking with audible snaps of their jaws. I was still standing behind Dennis, gripping onto his shoulders, when Professor McGonagall took my arm to take me to Dumbledore.  
   
Dennis' cry of, “Harry, don't!” was echoed by my friends, but there was nothing that could be done. I couldn't change my mind if I wanted to. Once you said the words, you were a Champion.  
   
It was a magically binding oath, albeit one never heard in Hogwarts before. The Careers—students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons—their schools were basically training centres for the Games. It was seen as an honour to participate, and as such, their students fought each other to volunteer. To save arguments, years ago, the Games' organisers placed a spell on the proceedings. The first person to say the words, “I volunteer as Champion,” was Champion. It was as simple as that.  
   
So I was Champion. And there was nothing anybody could do about it.  
   
“In a first for Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said, his voice cracking slightly, “we have a volunteer for a Champion. Ladies and gentlemen of Hogwarts, please stand and raise your goblets for your Champions: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter! May the odds be ever in your favour.”  
   
~  
   
After the announcement, and a good ten minutes of Dumbledore encouraging the school to get behind us, Draco and I were led into separate rooms to meet our nearest and dearest. I was surprised by the privacy. With our lives—quite literally, probably—about to be splashed onto screens everywhere I wasn't expecting the courtesy.  
   
I knew the Dursleys weren't about to tumble out of the fireplace, so I wasn't expecting too much. I hoped they'd let me see Ron and Hermione before I left though. To my surprise, and utter joy, Mr and Mrs Weasley were ushered into the room, Ron and Hermione following behind them. I had never been so touched before in my life. I'd spent some summers with them, but I'd never imagined they'd take the time to see me off.  
   
They both spoke words of encouragement while taking turns to hug me—Mr Weasley hurriedly whispering useful spells into my ear while Mrs Weasley emphasised the need to eat and find water as soon as possible. Hermione, too, kept repeating spells before hugging me so tight it hurt. Ron's eyes were suspiciously wet, which hurt me more than I could say.  
   
It was too soon when the Aurors came in to escort me to the departure point. I needed more time; I hadn't said even half of what I wanted to say. I hadn't even seen Ginny or Neville or Seamus or Dean and so many more people. I should have had the chance to say goodbye.  
   
~  
   
The place where the Champions were housed prior to the Games was a closely guarded secret, shielded by a multitude of spells to stop Muggles—and the odd rabid wizard fan—from finding it, so Draco and I were side-along Apparated to the site by our Auror escorts. Once within the grounds, we were led into a set of rooms on the very top floor of the building and left there together.  
   
The main room was more luxurious than anything I'd ever seen. Expensive looking leather armchairs were artfully placed around the room, with chrome and glass everywhere. I knew that Draco had grown up in a manor with money, but even he looked awestruck at the opulence.  
   
We looked around the rooms we were able to—the common area, our two bedrooms and the bathrooms—in silence and settled into the leather chairs to wait for further instructions. As we were uhm-ing and ah-ing over the marble fixtures in the bathrooms, I realised that we hadn't actually talked to one another properly since the reaping. And I didn't have a fucking clue where to start.  
   
Draco, obviously, did.  
   
“You couldn't do it, could you?”  
   
I looked at him aghast, not having the first clue what he was talking about.  
   
“You couldn't let me be the Champion; you had to volunteer.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“I could do it, you know. I could've been the Champion.”  
   
“We're both Champions.” I seriously didn't know what was wrong with him. Delayed shock?  
   
“But—fuck. I would have been the one they all rooted for; I could've been Hogwarts' Champion.”  
   
“You are.”  
   
“You don't get it, do you?”  
   
“No,” I said simply. I really didn't.  
   
“Gah!” Draco shouted, fisting his hands in his hair. “You don't know.”  
   
“Draco?”  
   
Turning to me, Draco shook his head. “Can we start again?”  
   
I shrugged, still confused as to what had actually happened.  
   
“I knew you didn't like Snape, but fuck, Harry, I didn't think you'd go quite so far to get out of his lessons.”  
   
I laughed. That was the Draco I knew—not that I knew him well, but that was the Draco who made me laugh in class, the boy who I faced in Quidditch. The boy who the smaller kids shied away from in the hallways.  
   
A morose looking teenage boy, no older than us, came in with trays of food and drink for us, and, for the first time in days, I couldn't wait to eat it. I didn't know what it was—the fact that I didn't have to wonder any longer or the fact that I had to fill up before the Games started, I knew I just felt like eating for the first time in a long time.  
   
“I think he's a squib,” Draco whispered to me over the—admittedly delicious—Cottage Pie. “He looks exactly like a boy I knew when I was young. I just forgot about him when he didn't turn up at Hogwarts.”  
   
Looking at the boy, I guessed Draco was correct in his assumptions. The boy looked at Draco with a hint of recognition, and grimaced when he heard Draco's 'squib' accusation.  
   
The boy placed an envelope on the table and left without another word.  
   
“I wonder why they don't have house-elves. Seems a bit horrible, using people like that.”  
   
I couldn't help it, I laughed.  
   
Yeah, the lovely people who would happily send twenty three teenagers to their death probably wouldn't think twice about exploiting those less magical than themselves.  
   
“Oh, right,” Draco said before he too started laughing.  
   
Once we'd both stopped laughing—I must've been more nervous than I thought; it took a while—Draco picked up the envelope, turning it over in his hands. It looked official; I didn't particularly want to know what it said.  
   
Draco ripped it open and read aloud. “Draco and Harry, please make yourselves as comfortable as you can. You have the afternoon to yourselves; rest as much as possible. Make sure that you do; tomorrow, the fun starts. Anything you want, ask for Avox, he's there to serve you. Sleep. Aberforth.”  
   
“Huh,” I said, “not the wordiest of blokes, is he? Avox must be the squib.”  
   
“That's his name! It was bugging me; I knew I knew that boy. We used to play together when we were kids.”  
   
“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked, drawing Draco from his thoughts. “See what's around?”  
   
“We might as well; who knows what Aberforth has in store for us tomorrow?”  
   
I grabbed my cloak, and was glad of it when we found ourselves on the roof of the building, looking out over the most beautiful views I could imagine. Green surrounded us completely, mountains on either side of us, with trees, bigger than I'd ever seen them, all around. Little dots of white roamed on the mountainside, the faint sound of baa-ing just reaching our ears.  
   
“So, Wales, then.”  
   
I snorted. “There are more sheep in New Zealand than Wales, you know.”  
   
“There are also more sheep than people in both countries, so...”  
   
It was ridiculous. We were both days from certain death and we were discussing the ratio of sheep populations. I couldn't help it, I started laughing again. Once we'd calmed down, we found a bench and spent the rest of the afternoon naming sheep and trying to decipher their baas. It was bizarre, but I enjoyed it.  
   
“Do you want to go back in?” Draco asked when I started shivering. “It has got pretty cold.”  
   
“No, unless you do?”  
   
Draco shook his head. “I like it. It's, I don't know, a bit of freedom.”  
   
“Not too much,” I said, pointing out the tell tale shimmer of a protection spell. “They obviously don't want us taking ourselves out of the Games before they can show it to the masses.”  
   
“On second thoughts,” Draco said with a horrified look over the edge, “it's too cold for me. I'm going back down.”  
   
We walked back into our rooms to find the large table covered in delicious looking food. Wheels of cheese, big joints of meat, crackers, breads I didn't even know the name of, all lay on silver platters beside jugs of pumpkin juice and butterbeer. My mouth watered.  
   
As we ate, we avoided any talk of the Games, keeping to inane chatter about home. I heard stories about the Slytherin common room that made me blush, and Draco seemed to enjoy my tales of the Gryffindors. He had a good laugh, anyway.  
   
“I don't mean to make you feel sad,” Draco said, squirming a little in his seat, “but who came to see you off?”  
   
“Don't worry, I had Ron's parents and Ron and Hermione. It was a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting anyone. I'm guessing your parents came?”  
   
Draco looked downcast at their mention. “Yes.”  
   
“I'm sorry; I can't imagine how it was, saying goodbye to your mum and dad.”  
   
“It wasn't that. Well, my mum didn't want to let me go. That was hard; she couldn't stop crying. But my father...”  
   
“It's okay; you don't have to talk about it.”  
   
“No, I need to.” Draco shook his head and finished his juice. “My father said, 'Well, at least Hogwarts will finally have the chance for a Victor.'”  
   
“Oh, that's brilliant, that he has such faith in you.”  
   
Draco suddenly stood up and went to his bedroom. Before he shut the door, he turned around.  
   
“He was talking about you.”  
   
~  
   
I didn't sleep well. I didn't actually think I would sleep at all, so I was pretty grateful for the phial of Calming Draught that I found on my bedside table when I got ready for bed. It meant I got  _some_ sleep at least.  
   
I awoke to the glorious smell of bacon and coffee and the slightly disturbing sound of Draco talking, and no one replying. I didn't think that Draco was one to talk to himself, so I quickly got up to investigate.  
   
“Morning, Harry,” Draco said, stifling a yawn.  
   
“Morning,” I replied with a yawn that I couldn't contain. “Were you talking to someone?”  
   
“Avox was in here, bringing the breakfast and I tried to get him to talk to me. He just kept asking me if I wanted anything else and left. Not before bowing and calling me sir. Bizarre.”  
   
Helping myself to coffee, I looked around the room. Lowering my voice, I whispered, “Do you think he's not allowed? Do you think they have cameras in here?”  
   
Draco blanched. “Oh, Merlin. That would be something they would do.”  
   
“About last night. I'm sorry.”  
   
Draco dropped his croissant back to his plate and acted as if I hadn't spoken. “So, what time do you think Aberforth will be here?”  
   
Not wanting to push Draco on his callous bastard of a father, I let it go. “Soon, I should think.”  
   
“In that case, I'm going to get ready. You should eat. He'll be here before we know it.”  
   
I'd barely had time to eat a slice of toast when Aberforth's towering form stepped through the door, swigging, as always, from his flask. The smell of alcohol on his breath as he shook my hand was over whelming.  
   
“We have lots to do today,” Aberforth said, helping himself to some bacon and settling at the table, “so you might as well fill up.”  
   
The thought of what we had in front of us made my stomach turn, so I pushed my plate away and tried some juice. Something told me it was going to be a long day.  
   
Aberforth was many things. He was, first and foremost, a drunk. That much was evident. He was also scruffy, foul-mouthed and rude, with terrible table manners. But he was also brilliant. He knew everything that we would need to know about the Games and how they worked, and it was his job to tell us it all. He was Hogwarts' only Victor in hundreds of years and our best shot at survival. I listened to every word he said.  
   
First, we would be meeting our fellow Champions before being paraded around in front of the cameras for the word at large to get their first proper look at us. I was pleased to hear that a Translation Spell was set over the Games, so no matter what language we spoke, everyone would understand. I hadn't even thought about any language barriers. We would be told the rules of the Games at the meeting—as if we didn't know—and have our wands checked.  
   
Then, we had our private interviews with the Gamemakers, a chance—according to Aberforth—for us to make a first impression that stuck with them. This was pivotal. If the Gamemakers liked us, they would give us a high rating. High ratings usually meant more gifts from sponsors, so I needed to get my head together for that. I didn't want to mess that up.  
   
Then, for the rest of the week, we had training. This was important for our survival, according to Aberforth. The Careers had been training for the Games in school. Others, like us, who had been learning the likes of Divination instead, needed to learn the spells we would need to survive. I was quite good at defensive spells, apparently, but  _offensive_  spells were definitely not my strong point.  
   
At the end of the week, we had what I had been dreading the most, bar the Games themselves: the interviews on camera, with the entire wizarding world watching on their screens back home.  
   
The morning after that, we would be Side-along Apparated to the arena were the Hunger Games were held. And that was it. Twenty four kids enter, one kid leaves. Simple as that.  
   
~  
   
Dressed in our new all-black jumpsuits and cloaks, complete with Hogwarts badge, we were led down to the main hall to meet with our fellow Champions. As we followed Aberforth down the twelve flights of stairs, I had the strangest urge to grab Draco's hand. I resisted, of course. It was probably just me wanting to grab hold of the only piece of home that I could.  
   
I didn't expect the noise levels to be as high as they were when we reached the other Champions. I half-expected the other Champions to be as nervous and, quite frankly, scared as me, but they weren't. It looked like they were at a party, some of them.  
   
Even without the school badges on their cloaks, I could easily tell who was making the most noise. The loudest group were right in the middle of the hall, two boys and two girls happily chatting away. The two boys—large and burly, emanating strength—were obviously from Durmstrang, and the girls—easily the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, not that I looked at girls like _that_ —screamed Beauxbatons.  
   
So, they were the Careers, the favourites to win. I could see why. The way they held themselves, they knew they were the best. Aberforth had told us how the Careers usually teamed up at the beginning, and this lot were evidently following tradition.  
   
Tucked away in the corner, and keeping very much to themselves, were a girl of about my age, and a boy who didn't even  look old enough to participate.  
   
“Bloody hell,” Draco said, coming up to stand beside me, “he's tiny.”  
   
“That's Belle and Alan,” Aberforth said, pointing at the couple with his hip flask. “From Canada. She's apparently good with Charms, and he's, well...”  
   
“Bait,” a sneering voice said from behind me.  
   
I hesitated to turn around, not particularly wanting to see who had said it.  
   
“Carlos,” the voice added, coming around and offering his hand. “And this,” he gestured to his schoolmate, “is Gloria.”  
   
“Draco and Harry,” Draco said, shaking the git's hand.  
   
“I'll leave you to talk,” Aberforth said. “I need a refill.”  
   
“Oh, don't take Carlos the wrong way,” Gloria said, nodding her head towards Alan. “He just make jokes when he's nervous. He knows we're all bait, really.”  
   
“Oh, give all my secrets away, why don't you?” Carlos barged Gloria with his shoulder in a friendly way. “Come on, we need to mingle.”  
   
Draco turned to me as they walked off. “Do you want to mingle?”  
   
I shook my head, the thought of making friends with these kids when I was expected to kill them in less than a week made me feel sick.  
   
“I know,” Draco said and I realised that I'd said it out loud. “But Aberforth said we need to team up with someone, or we'll never survive.”  
   
Resisting the urge to take Draco's hand again, I followed him around the room, Aberforth soon joined us to point out potential Champions to team up with (Belle from Canada, both of the Australians, the boy from China, Carlos and Gloria), those we should definitely try to avoid at all costs (The Careers, obviously, the horrible looking boy from Germany) and those we didn't have to worry about (Alan, another young girl from China and both boys from the States).  
   
Draco seemed to drink the information in. Me, I just tried to keep down what little I'd had at breakfast. It was a horrible feeling, walking around that room. The other Champions scrutinising our every move, determining whether we were worth their time and energy and Aberforth basically outlining who to kill first. I couldn't wait for the meeting to start, if only to get everybody's attention elsewhere.  
   
It wasn't long before my wish was granted, and a serious looking group of wizards and witches walked out onto the stage. I recognised only one face. The Gamemakers were all hand picked from the participating countries, and our representative was an absolutely awful witch who'd written some abysmal articles in the Prophet about Muggleborns. I couldn't place her name, though.  
   
“Dolores Umbridge,” Draco whispered to me, growling slightly. “One of my father's old friends. Horrible woman. My mother hates her.”  
   
I nodded; Mr and Mrs Weasley were quite vocal in their dislike of her as well.  
   
The tinkling of silverware on glass silenced the room and drew everybody's faces to the front. These were the people who could make our lives even more of a nightmare than they were sure to be. Not one person would want to upset them in any way.  
   
“First of all,” an ageing wizard with bright white hair said, his arms open wide, “welcome to the 74th Hunger Games. I am Corionalus Snow, the president of the Hunger Games.”  
   
He took a breath and we all applauded, as sickened as I was to do it. But I definitely didn't want to piss him off.  
   
“Before I hand the stage over to the Head Gamemaker, I would just like to say that I am very much looking forward to this Games, may it be happy and eventful. May the odds be ever in your favour.”  
   
A low grumble followed his last words as people repeated the Games' motto. I didn't understand it, personally. How the fuck were any odds in my favour? It was me and my wand against people who wanted to kill me. The odds were very much against me, thank you very much.  
   
“Please welcome your Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane.”  
   
Another round of applause sounded as the tall, much younger wizard took centre stage.  
   
“Welcome, Champions! The rules for this, the 74th Hunger Games, are simple. You will, of course be allowed your wands, but normal wizarding rules apply. No  Unforgivable Curses will be abided. Any witch or wizard who attempts to use an Unforgivable will be  _removed_  from the Games immediately.”  
   
This was by no means a new rule. During the last Games, a boy from Spain had tried to use the Killing Curse on a girl from America. He was shot down with a bolt of lightning before he'd finished getting the words out.  
   
“As always, Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration applies and there will be an Anti-Disapparation  Jinx over the arena. Summoning and banishing spells are prohibited. The use of blanket protection spells is also disallowed.”  
   
Of course, because twenty four teenagers hiding under  _Salvio Hexia_  wouldn't be fun to watch.  
   
“Also, for the interest of increasing the fun of the Games, this year a blanket spell prohibiting the use of  _Aguamenti_  will also be in force.”  
   
A shocked gasp went around the room. As wizards, we were used to having fresh water any time we wanted, and now they expected us to  _find it_? I imagined more than one of the Champions might suffer greatly from that change to the rules.  
   
“Other than that, there are no new rules. Enjoy! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour.”  
   
The Gamemakers left as quickly as they came, and within seconds the noise level was as loud as it had been. People were  _not_  happy about the change in the rules, and they weren't quiet in their distaste.  
   
Aberforth quickly ushered me and Draco to the side of the room as all around the other mentors did the same for their charges.  
   
“It's time for the individual evaluations now,” he said. “Durmstrang are up first.”  
   
Looking over, I could see the burly Russians waiting to the door beside the stage, the girls from Beauxbatons lingering behind them.  
   
“As the host country, you two are last, so you may have a while to wait. Please, I can't tell you how important this is. We've talked about what to do. Draco, you display your talent for making potions out of all kinds of crap, and Harry, you show off that Patronus of yours.”  
   
I could see Draco rolling his eyes, and I couldn't blame him. Aberforth hadn't shut up about the interviews all morning.  
   
“I have to go and meet up with the other mentors now, so I'll see you later.”  
   
I was highly doubtful that he would see anything if he carried on drinking as he had.  
   
~  
   
The wait was unbearable. I imagined the interviews would be an 'in and out' type of deal. Go in, smile, show them some skills, smile some more and leave, and enjoy the rest of our day. But it had been  _hours_ before Draco was called in. Bloody alphabetical order. I thought Draco would be in with them for as long as the others, but not ten minutes later, I was called in.  
   
With great trepidation, I followed the dour looking Auror through the door, trying my best to think of the happiest memory I could. It was more difficult than I thought. I felt as if I was fourteen again, practising with Professor Lupin on a Boggart in a cupboard.  
   
Finally settling on a memory—last Christmas at the Burrow—I walked determinedly into the Gamemaker's room.  
   
I needn't have bothered. Not one of them even batted an eyelid as I introduced myself, too busy quaffing champagne and eating their feast on their raised gallery.  
   
“Harry Potter, Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” I repeated, a little louder.  
   
A few turned their attention towards me, which I guessed was the best I was going to get. Thinking of the pure joy of that Christmas day, I raised my wand.  
   
“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”  
   
A wisp of white emerged from the end of my wand, my stag just about visible—and quickly dissipated. Fuck. Looking up at the gallery, I noticed I'd lost what little attention I'd had. I could feel rage building inside me. The disinterest, their blasé attitude. For Merlin's sake, my life was—quite literally—on the line and they couldn't put their canapés down for two bloody minutes. It was just fucking rude.  
   
“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” I cast again, my stag barrelling right through the dummies.  
   
Turning to gauge their reaction, I was horrified to see they were all ignoring me. As Seneca Crane raised his glass to toast his equally pompous looking colleagues, something snapped. Raising my wand, thinking about their smug smiles falling and concentrating with all my energy, I aimed at the centre of their little group.  
   
 _“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_  
   
The spell worked more perfectly than I could've hoped for. My stag galloped between them, as huge and overbearing as I'd ever seen it, shocking one of them so much he fell backwards into the punchbowl. As an added bonus, it stopped right in front of that cow Umbridge and snorted white mist in her face, causing her to revile as if it was real. It was hilarious. The Gamemakers fell silent immediately, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Knowing that I might as well go all out, and before I burst into tears of laughter, I smiled widely, bowed deeply and walked out without a word.  
   
~  
   
Draco simply laughed when I told him and Aberforth what had happened. Aberforth, on the other hand, was furious. Apparently, casting spells at the Gamemakers was not a good idea. He didn't say a word to me over dinner, focussing instead on discussing Draco's brilliant use of potions. I found I didn't care. They weren't going to give me a high mark any way, with them not paying me the slightest bit of attention, so it didn't really matter.  
   
As we sat down to watch the scores, I wasn't expecting much. The scores varied widely. From Gregor from Durmstrang getting an eleven—with twelve being the highest you could achieve—to Alan from Canada and Lin from China getting threes. As the last school before us was announced—the two boys from Australia getting respectable sevens—I could see Aberforth getting more anxious. He even put his wine glass down; it worried me. Draco was on the edge of his seat and the three of us cheered and jumped up when he received an unexpected eight. Draco hadn't been sure they'd been paying attention to him, either.  
   
“Congratulations!” I said, throwing my arms around him. “Well done!”  
   
Draco smiled as wide as I'd seen since he was reaped, and patted me on the back. “Thanks. Your turn,” he said, pointing at the screen.  
   
“Here we go,” I said, nervous despite knowing my score wasn't going to be high. Sitting back down, I again resisted the urge to take Draco's hand in mine.  
   
“And, finally, our last Champion, Harry Potter, also of Hogwarts, receives, and would you look at this!” the announcer said, bouncing in his seat. “Harry Potter gets an eleven!”  
   
I was in shock. I could hear Draco and Aberforth whooping and cheering, but it felt far away. An  _eleven_? What the fuck? I only cast a Patronus; they didn't even see me hit the dummies. Well, the ones I was supposed to be hitting, anyway.  
   
Aberforth slapped me on the shoulder. “They must have liked your spunk, kid,” he said, toasting me with his drink. “Well done, both of you.”  
   
I felt strangely proud. Not that I  _wanted_  to be here, but as I was, I might as well try my best. Newly energised, I toasted Aberforth in return. “Cheers, Ab.”  
   
Draco choked on his wine.  
   
“I'll let that go, and pretend it never happened,” Aberforth said. “Very few people have got away with calling me 'Ab', and none of them are alive today. Now,” he said, standing up, “bed for you two. You have training in the morning and you're not going to sail through that.”  
   
With a last gulp of his glass, he left without another word.  
   
“Note to self, must not call him 'Ab',” Draco said. “Mustn't anger the beast.”  
   
I poked my tongue out at him and headed for my bedroom. “Shut up. Now you heard  _Aberforth_. Early start tomorrow. Bed?”  
   
Draco yawned. “Might as well; there's nothing else to do. Night, Harry.”  
   
“Night,” I said, hoping that I'd get  _some_  sleep at least.  
   
~  
   
I imagined training to be what Snape teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts would be like. I was, thankfully, very wrong. For one, there was no dour-faced professor barking orders at us. Instead, there were tables stationed around the room, with Aurors of all descriptions ready and willing to help us in any way they could.  
   
After all, I thought coldly, they wouldn't want us all to die on the first day and lose their spectacle now, would they?  
   
Aberforth told us to concentrate on acquiring new skills, and not show our strengths too early. The private interviews were just that—private. The only people who knew what happened in that room were the ones present, and those we chose to tell. The other champions didn't know what we were capable of, and Aberforth thought it best for us to focus on discovering everybody else's skills.  
   
The other Champions were watching me closely regardless of what I did, with me getting a high score. More than a few sidled up to me and tried to strike up a conversation, which I guessed meant they were eyeing me up as an ally. I couldn't think about allies and making  _friends_  with these people, so I stuck close to Draco's side instead.  
   
Despite the circumstances, we had quite a good day, spending the morning testing out new spells and reviewing spells we had in our arsenal, and the afternoon learning basic Muggle survival skills.  
   
The thought of losing our wands terrified both of us, so Aberforth thought it would be a good idea for us to learn something in case that should happen. In his Games, he told us, a boy from Japan lost his wand in a swamp and died of exposure. It was more than enough encouragement to persuade Draco to learn how to light a fire the Muggle way.  
   
Surprisingly, Draco picked up fire-lighting very quickly. He also knew how to find berries and fruit that were good to eat, from his extensive knowledge of Potions. I tried my hardest to listen to him, more than anyone else—I really didn't want to accidentally kill myself with poisonous fruit. I was sure that would be a lot more embarrassing than dying at the hands of the Gamemakers.  
   
I found I was a dab hand at climbing and hiding; it must have been from growing up running away from Dudley. I also proved to be quite adept at basic first aid, which I knew already, of course. Too many scrapes in my childhood, with no one but me to clean them up. All in all, it was a very rewarding day. Not that I  _ever_  wanted to lose my wand, but I felt comfortable enough to survive until I found another one at least.  
   
At the end of the day, I was exhausted. Quidditch just didn't give you the level of fitness needed for climbing walls and running laps. I scraped through dinner, not even joining Draco as he tried to talk to Avox, and barely listening to Aberforth's latest lesson before collapsing on the sofa.  
   
“Night then, lads,” Aberforth said. “See you in the morning.”  
   
I waved in response and didn't open my eyes until I felt the other end of the sofa dip as Draco sat down.  
   
“Why do you bother?” I asked Draco.  
   
“With what?”  
   
“The thing with Avox. Why do you feel the need to be nice to him? I would've thought you were used to servants.”  
   
Draco flinched, but was silent for a long time. Fuck, I hadn't meant to offend him.  
   
“I'm sorry,” I started, but Draco held his hand up to shut me up.  
   
“I used to be like that. Do you remember the first time we met?”  
   
I nodded. How could I forget it? He was the first wizard of my own age I'd ever met.  
   
“What did you think of me?”  
   
I shrugged. “A bit high and mighty, but I didn't know—I thought that maybe wizards were like that.”  
   
“My family were. I was brought up to think myself better than everybody else, that Muggles were the scum of the earth and Muggleborns— _Mudbloods_ —were no better than them. That was all my father; my mother wasn't so bad. Apparently her sister married a Muggle. Not that she saw her, of course, my father would never have allowed that.  
   
“We only socialised with other Pure-bloods—correction, I wasn't allowed to socialise with anyone who  _wasn't_  a Pure-blood. And a Pure-blood wizard, of course. Never a squib. Which is stupid, because—”  
   
Draco gestured to the table, where the remnants of dinner lay.  
   
“That's exactly what Avox is. We played together as children, and when he didn't join me in school, I asked my parents what happened to him. My father got angry at me and told me never to speak about him again, but my mother told me the truth.  
   
“When he hadn't received his letter like the rest of us, his parents knew that they couldn't hide it any longer. Avox was a squib, and that was not okay with my father and his friends. And we—me and Pansy and our friends, we would have never played with him. Even if my father would have allowed it, we would've just made fun of him.  
   
“They'd hidden it well, but when it came out, they moved away. My parents never mentioned the family again, and I haven't thought about him in years. This—”  
   
He again gestured to the table.  
   
“The being nice thing?” I asked.  
   
“Yes. I feel, I don't know, guilty about how I brushed him aside. And, well, Father's not here to tell me to 'Act like a proper Malfoy' and I just thought I'd try.”  
   
“Try?”  
   
“To make it up to him. His family, obviously, brushed him aside. Why else would he be a bloody servant? I just wanted to feel like less of a twat. You know, before...”  
   
“Dying?” I offered, wincing as soon as the word was out of my mouth. “You're not a twat, though.” I added quickly.  
   
“Not as much as I could have been,” Draco said, his eyes flicking to the screen where our images continuously flashed in sequence. “I started school, and I found out that Muggleborns weren't all that my father insisted they were. I saw for myself that they were just witches and wizards like us. I mean, how can anyone say that your friend Hermione isn't as good as anyone—she beats us all in tests, for Merlin's sake.  
   
“I was conflicted, so the summer after my first year, I spoke to my father about my changing feelings. He went berserk—absolutely crazy. My mother, and I'd never seen her stand up to my father before, grabbed his arm when as he moved to hit me, told him to look at life outside of the Manor, and Apparated us both to her Aunt's house in Scotland. We didn't see my father for two weeks, and then one day an owl came, and we went home, as if nothing had happened.”  
   
“Bloody hell.” I didn't know what to say. I'd always imagined Draco's home life to be one of privilege and love, not tyranny and prejudice. That was  _my_  life. We were more similar than I'd ever thought.  
   
“I know. I didn't mention my thoughts on Muggleborns to my father again that summer, but I did talk to my mother about people in school after that, like how Hermione is so much better at Charms than Pansy, and how could that be, if Pansy was a Pure-blood? You know? Mother was brilliant. She talked to me about how for many years she'd felt the same as Father, but she'd slowly realised that it wasn't the case. Did you know Snape isn't a Pure-blood?”  
   
I nodded, thinking back to Hermione's research last year, when I got that old textbook.  
   
“That was what I finally took to Father to get him to talk to me about it. How could he be friends with someone he spouted hate about? I knew he wouldn't change easily. He was prejudiced, simple as that, and that didn't just go away. But he didn't shout at me again for mentioning you, or anybody else who wasn't a Pure-blood.”  
   
“Me?”  
   
Draco's cheeks coloured slightly. “Quidditch,” he said suddenly. “I used to tell him how you were good, but I was going to beat you. He was interested in hearing about you, though. The enigma of the Boy Who Lived. The one who finally rid the world of the Dark Lord.”  
   
I rolled my eyes. It wasn't often I was called that, but it still made me cringe.  
   
“Anyway, the point was that he accepted that his old values didn't apply any longer. That school was different from when he attended. I mean, we've never been  _friends_ , the different houses, but it was only ever friendly rivalry, right?”  
   
“Definitely. It was the same with Ron, when he started. He was full of 'Slytherins are evil' and stuff.”  
   
Draco shook his head, smiling.  
   
“He doesn't think that now. It was the same as with you. He learned that you weren't all bad. He's always full of how Theo is only second to him in Chess Club. And don't tell Hermione, but I'm sure he's got a crush on Pansy.”  
   
“Ha! She'd love that...”  
   
We both fell silent as we realised that the chances of either of us seeing our best friends again was extremely slim. And there wasn't a chance in hell we'd  _both_  see our friends again.  
   
“Well, that certainly killed the mood.” I stifled a yawn. “I'm going to bed.”  
   
“Yeah, me too. Night, Harry.”  
   
~  
   
If I thought the previous day's training session was hard, it was nothing compared to the next. It was a nightmare. Weapons training. I hadn't expected it, and I certainly hadn't been ready for it. Being wizards, I'd assumed that we'd be left with our wands and that would be it. I'd seen previous Champions using weapons, but I didn't know they'd actually trained with them.  
   
After a hurried breakfast—I hadn't got to sleep till the early hours, even with the potion, so I'd slept in—Aberforth ushered us down to the training room and left us there. He had no words of wisdom or any things to avoid. Neither of us had any experience with weaponry—Draco did admit to attempting fencing years ago, but hadn't actually fought against anyone other than his tutor—so we were to simply find out what we could use if we needed to.  
   
And, as always, we were to observe the other Champions and try to find out their weaknesses.  
   
Deciding to stick together, we started with the hand to hand combat Auror. I've never been one to fight, so I wasn't expecting much. I wasn't wrong. After Draco had landed a couple of punches I hadn't even seen coming, I gave up on that. It didn't help that my bloody glasses flew off my head whenever I was hit, either. If, Merlin forbid, I lost my wand and, Merlin forbid, it was down to fist fight, I decided that I would do what I'd always done if Dudley tried to hit me. Run away and hide. It had worked for years, so why mess with a winning move?  
   
I finally managed to persuade Draco to stop hitting things—he was extraordinarily handy with his fists, much to both of our amazement—and we moved on to the trickier task of handling actual weapons.  
   
Swords were a big fat no from the start. Neither of us could get used to the weight of the sword, and were both absolutely useless at swinging the bloody thing with any hint of co-ordination. The same went for staves. I found them much too big and unwieldy, and I definitely didn't relish the idea of carrying it around.  
   
Batons, on the other hand, were perfect for Draco. I couldn't fathom how he did it, but he was amazing, almost flying around the room, hitting the targets. I was more than a little grateful that we weren't required to practise on each other. Apparently, Draco would be perfectly okay if it came down to close combat. Lucky bastard.  
   
I moved around the room—leaving Draco to his bats; he seemed to be having fun—trying out all the different types of weapon, not finding anything that I was good at, even with the help of the Aurors. With only one station left, I didn't think much of my chances. I would just have to make certain I didn't lose my bloody wand.  
   
At the beginning of the day, the Aurors told us that everybody had one weapon that they were brilliant at, that they instinctively  _knew_. For Draco, it was obviously his hands and his reflexes. He was fascinating to watch, the way he ducked and avoided blows while hitting his targets almost every time, whether he had a bat or just his hands.  
   
For some, like both the boys from Durmstrang or the two girls from Beauxbatons, nothing troubled them. They weren't brilliant at all of the disciplines, but good enough to comfortably wield anything they could lay their hands on. Others still, like Carlos, had a good grasp of a couple of the weapons. Even Alan was quite at ease with his catapult. I really thought I'd been overlooked when they'd given out talents. Until I picked up the crossbow.  
   
It was amazing. I would even go as far as to say it was magical, the feeling I got when I first picked up the bow. With my glasses, I wasn't expecting any type of accuracy with the crossbow, but I was wrong. I was bloody brilliant with the crossbow.  
   
The Auror asked how long I'd been shooting and was amazed—and I was in complete agreement with him—that I could actually hit the targets without so much as picking one up before. I actually felt quite happy—or relieved—that I'd found my skill.  
   
~  
   
It was an off-hand remark made by Bruce, a boy from Australia, that made my smile finally slip. Lunchtime found all the Champions sitting in small groups, talking and eating. After a highly energetic morning, I was quite hungry, and couldn't wait to eat. A few words from Bruce, and I was ready to bring it all back up again.  
   
“So, how are you going to do it?”  
   
“Do what?” Draco asked, looking around as if the answer was behind him.  
   
“You know,” Bruce said, wiggling his finger between Draco and myself. “Have you decided who gets to win, if you're left at the end?”  
   
My mind froze as I choked on my stew. I looked at Draco, and saw that he seemed to be in the same boat as me.  
   
Bruce didn't seem to notice as he continued prattling on. “Me and Jason, we've decided. We're going to flip a coin.”  
   
He took a coin out of his pocket and threw it in the air, easily catching it with his other hand. “Tails, I win; heads, he does. It's still a win for Adelaide, see. You should think about it. Not that you're going to beat us, though.”  
   
Laughing, he walked off, leaving me and Draco gaping at each other like we'd never seen each other before.  
   
“Um,” I said, trying to think of something— _anything_ —to say.  
   
“Yeah,” Draco said, obviously suffering from the same problem.  
   
“I've got to—” I stood up quickly, practically throwing my tray at the squib waiting by the table as I ran from the room.  
   
 _Fuck. Shit. Bollocks_. I'd barely come to terms with maybe having to kill somebody else for my own survival, but someone I  _knew_. Someone I'd come to think of as a friend. Not possible. How was anyone supposed to do that? And to be so blasé about it all:  _'It's still a win for Adelaide.'_  It was still killing someone—or being killed by someone—I'd known since I was eleven.  
   
What had we been doing? The late night talks, the spilling our guts to one another. Why had we become friends? I'd done some stupid things in my life, but this was one of the worst. Not that I expected us both to be there at the end, but still. It  _was_  a possibility. And even if we didn't, there could only be one winner. At the very least, one of us was going to die within the next week and there was nothing either of us could do about it.  
   
Well, I could think of one thing I  _could_  do. No more late night talks and no more teams. If it was going to be me against everybody else, it was damn sure going to start right there and then.  
   
~  
   
It was quite easy to put my plan into action during the afternoon session. After lunch, when I'd calmed down enough to actually be with the other Champions, especially Draco, we were left to train with whatever we felt comfortable with. I did think about practising with hand to hand combat or going over some spells with the Aurors, but one look at Draco happily hitting stuff with other stuff, I decided to stick with the crossbow. I didn't think I'd actually enjoy having something in my hand besides my wand, but I did. I loved the feel of the wood in my hand, I loved the sound of the arrow flying towards its target and I loved the fact that I was good at it.  
   
Dinner with Draco that night was a nightmare. Draco kept trying to engage me in conversation, but I couldn't bring myself to reciprocate. I _wouldn't_. Luckily, Aberforth was there to hear all about Draco's skills and to talk about who he fancied allying himself with. I concentrated on my dinner, simply nodding non-committally when asked for my opinions. I was pretty certain that Aberforth wouldn't think too kindly upon my 'just me' plan.  
   
Not being able to escape and hide out in my bedroom all night—Aberforth actually threatened to Stupefy me when I tried it—I had to sit with the pair of them and go over each Champion in turn. I found it excruciating. Talking about kids and listing the best way to kill them wasn't how I wanted to spend my evening, but, and he was right, Aberforth insisted that it was essential to us not dying the second we were dropped into that arena.  
   
“So, again,” Aberforth said, pointing his wand at the screen and flicking to the right. “Russia.”  
   
“Durmstrang. Viktor and Oleg,” Draco said, immediately. “Both seventeen. Careers.”  
   
“Strongest areas?”  
   
“Viktor transfiguration. Oleg cutting spells.”  
   
Aberforth looked at me.  
   
As much as I disliked it, I did need to have some input into the proceedings. “Both adept at all types of weaponry. Not allies to anyone but themselves and the French.”  
   
“Weaknesses?”  
   
“Not many,” I said, truthfully.  
   
“Their egos are as big as their schools, if that helps,” Draco chipped in.  
   
Aberforth flicked his wand again. “France.”  
   
“Beauxbatons. Careers. Marie and Helena. Sixteen and seventeen. Careers. Marie is part-Veela. Helena is brilliant at transfiguration. Both capable of handling many types of weapons.”  
   
“Not interested in anyone but the other Careers.”  
   
“Weaknesses?”  
   
“Helena, nothing. Marie has trouble with her shields.  
   
“Canada.”  
   
“Ontario Institute. Belle and Alan. Sixteen and thirteen. She's good with charms of all kinds. He's, erm, not.”  
   
I grimaced at Draco's words, but they were true. The poor boy, who looked so young on the screen, was only a third year. He hadn't had a chance to learn what he needed to know.  
   
“He can handle a slingshot, though and she can handle a sword. Neither seems much of a threat.”  
   
“China.”  
   
On and on we talked, over and over again until we could recite each country's Champions, their individual skills and, importantly, their weaknesses. By the time I climbed into bed, I didn't need any potions to fall asleep, although I was highly doubtful that it would be a restful one.  
   
~  
   
I woke the following morning with the unsettling realisation that it was the last day. I'd, surprisingly, slept well—maybe that last drink with Aberforth had been more than ale—and the thought of only one more day of freedom hit me within seconds of waking up. It was horrible.  
   
The day was reserved for personal training. We didn't have to meet with the other Champions, we didn't have to focus on one skill set. We didn't even have to train, if we didn't want to. Of course, I couldn't imagine anybody doing that, not even the overly confident Champions, like Oliver from Germany. That kid was  _mean_.  
   
We'd originally planned on Aberforth taking both me and Draco over each discipline in turn, practising what we were struggling on and honing our strengths, but with my new mindset, I couldn't face spending the day with either of them.  
   
I broached the subject at breakfast, and it did not go well. Aberforth was angry. I assumed he would be, but not to such an extent. He was incredibly red in the face, and I didn't think it was just down to his sipping from his flask. But, I thought afterwards, deciding to go off and train with one of the Aurors would probably be a bruise to his ego.  
   
Draco just looked hurt. I couldn't fathom  _why_  he would feel like that. I thought he'd be pretty grateful, actually, being able to have Aberforth to himself for the day. I also couldn't fathom why seeing Draco hurt made me feel so  _bad_. I just counted as another reason to stick to my 'me against the world' plan.  
   
Leaving Draco and Aberforth to their training, I found myself an Auror and focused on my offensive spells. I'd learned some new ones on the first day of training, and I was relishing the thought of destroying some dummies. I thought it might help me blow off some steam.  
   
It was exhilarating, exactly what I needed. Before long, I forgot the Auror was even there. I practically flew around the room, casting spells and blowing up the targets. I didn't even notice the small crowd that had gathered to watch. Once the last dummy was destroyed, I could hear clapping and was shocked to see a few Aurors, and even a couple of Champions watching me.  
   
Embarrassed, I ignored them and ran to the showers. I'd let my guard down again. I really needed to stop doing that.  
   
After lunch, where I had to fend off some of the  _weaker_  Champions who obviously wanted to ally themselves with me, Aberforth cornered me to discuss the afternoon's interviews. We'd been over it all before, but Aberforth was nothing if not thorough. Smile, talk clearly, smile, exude confidence, but not cockiness, smile some more. It was pretty basic, but still terrifying. I hated attention, always had done, but I needed to do well in the interview. If nothing else, I needed to show my friends back home that I was okay. It wouldn't do for them to worry.  
   
The interviews were held in yet another room of the building, but this one was a lot bigger. There was a stage, where the interviews were held, and, as if it wasn't scary enough, a select live audience watching too.  
   
According to Aberforth, the most important people in the wizarding world were in the audience, having paid a good amount of gold for the privilege. These were the people I had to worry about now. These were the people with the gold needed to send gifts into the arena. These were the ones who could potentially save my life.  
   
Being the host country, we were scheduled to go on last, so Draco and I were, once again, in for a long wait. Each Champion in turn left our little holding room and went for their interview, with the rest of us watching on another ever-present screen.  
   
The interviews went as I expected them to go. The Careers sauntered on stage, full of swagger and confidence. The host, a flamboyant wizard called Caesar, was easily won over by the four of them. Carlos, too, exuded confidence, riling the crowd up, saying how he was going to win. Others, like Alan and the other youngest Champion from Japan, Yuko, spoke so quietly that Caesar had to ask them to speak up.  
   
Oliver, the boy from Germany came across just how I thought he would. That boy was evil and it showed, with him sneering at the audience. His mentor must have been having a fit. Some Champions simply couldn't hold in their emotions when Caesar asked them about their families. I hoped I would be able to keep my own in check when it came to my interview, but listening to Vincent tearfully talking about his family back in Nigeria, I was doubtful.  
   
I couldn't concentrate on what Ingrid was saying in her own interview, knowing I was next. My mind was blank; I didn't have a clue what to say. I ran through Aberforth's advice again and again in my head; it was the only thing I could think to do.  _Smile, talk clearly, smile, confidence, smile._  
   
“You're going to be okay,” Draco said, his first words to me since the night before. “We're  _both_  going to be okay.”  
   
I didn't know what to say to him, but it didn't seem like Draco was expecting a response. He was blushing wildly. It was if it was Draco's own mantra, and he'd accidentally spoken out loud.  
   
“And finally, to the host country and your Champions from Hogwarts.” Caesar's booming voice came through the screen. “Firstly, please welcome Harry Potter!”  
   
I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand up and go out there. I couldn't face the braying masses.  
   
“Haha, I think someone might be shy.” The crowd laughed wildly at Caesar's quip. “Come on out, Harry. We don't bite!”  
   
An Auror came in and I knew I had to get up. I knew I needed to stand up, before the Auror made me. He had his wand in his hand and I knew he wasn't afraid to use it. Not to show a mark, of course; they couldn't have that on the screens, but enough to get me on the stage at least.  
   
Looking at Draco, I couldn't think what to say to him. I just stood up, nodded at Draco and followed the Auror to the stage.  
   
“It's okay, Harry,” Caesar said when I finally made it to the stage. “We're all friends here. Let's have a chat.”  
   
I forced myself to sit down. I caught sight of Aberforth in the audience, and it settled me somewhat. At least I  _did_  have a friend out there I could focus on.  
   
“So, Harry, you volunteered for the Games.”  
   
“Yes,” I said.  
   
“It's a first for Hogwarts, isn't it?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
I could see Aberforth gesturing with his hands for me to go on.  _Smile, talk clearly, smile, confidence, smile._ I coughed, forced a smile back onto my face and turned to Caesar.  
   
“The boy who was reaped, he's so young and he's my friend, and I couldn't let him do this. I couldn't have sat in school and watched him go through this. Not when I could've done something to stop it. And this was the only thing I  _could_  do.”  
   
The audience let out a loud 'Aww' and Caesar patted me on the knee.  
   
“You're a good friend, Harry. I hope your young friend knows what a good friend he has in you.”  
   
The audience were nodding as one. If I wasn't so petrified I might have laughed at the absurdity of it all. They were like puppets.  
   
“Now, we can't have you here without talking about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”  
   
I was shocked. Aberforth had said that they probably would try and use that, but I'd stupidly hoped they wouldn't. Oblivious of my discomfort, Caesar didn't stop.  
   
“Do you think being the Boy Who Lived is going to help you in the Games?”  
   
I honestly didn't know how to respond to that. How was watching my parents die and accidentally killing a Dark Lord when I was a baby going to bloody help? I tried my best to remember Aberforth's words when we'd touched on it, and, trying my best not to throw up, I grinned.  
   
“Well, I take it as a sign,” I said, the bile rising to my throat with every word. “I've beaten the worst of wizards before, so I think I can handle the Hunger Games!”  
   
The audience laughed like the puppets they were and Caesar clapped me on the knee again.  
   
“Ho ho! That's what we like to see,” Caesar said, looking out into the audience. “A bit of bravado; it makes for a better and more exciting Games. Isn't that right, ladies and gentlemen?”  
   
As expected, the ladies and gentlemen whooped and hollered.  
   
“We don't often get famous people on here—not before they emerge victorious, anyway!”  
   
The audience guffawed and I wanted nothing more than to shut the lot of them up with a swift ' _Silencio_ '.  
   
On and on it went, with Caesar asking inane questions and making absurd assumptions while the audience laughed and ahhed in unison. I couldn't wait to get off the stage. The only thing I could do was follow Aberforth's instructions.  
   
 _Smile, talk clearly, smile, confidence, smile._  
   
“Well,” Caesar said, looking at his watch with a fake frown, “sadly, our time here is up. It's been a pleasure talking to you Harry. Maybe we'll be doing all this again when you win!”  
   
The audience cheered. Bastards.  
   
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, standing up and pulling me to my feet. “Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!”  
   
I bowed to the audience and pasted on my biggest smile.  
   
After leaving the stage, I expected to be ushered to another room with the other Champions. I didn't expect to get left in a hallway, with only another screen and a couple of Aurors for company. I assumed the other Champions were off enjoying their last evening with their mentors. I obviously had to wait for Draco's interview to be over for him and Aberforth, so I sat down on a very uncomfortable bench to watch. There was nothing else to do and no one else around who looked like talking to me.  
   
Draco walked on stage and I was shocked. He looked radiant. I didn't know if it was a trick of the light or not, but Draco looked amazing. His hair glistened and his skin looked flawless. He held himself quite stiffly, but he had obviously listened to Aberforth's advice as well. His smile was huge. Not a real one, of course, but who expected any of us to smile properly when we were maybe a day from death.  
   
I listened as he chatted to Caesar about the usual pre-Games talk.  _Are you excited? What do you think of your chances? Any game plan?_  
   
Caesar was pretty good at making his subjects relaxed, and it wasn't long before Draco was relaxing against the back of the sofa and talking to Caesar as if they were old friends.  
   
I thought the interview had come to an end when Caesar patted Draco on the knee and smiled sadly. Instead, Caesar said something he hadn't said to anybody else.  
   
“You're an attractive young man. Isn't that right, ladies?”  
   
The audience clapped and cheered.  
   
“Thank you,” Draco said, winking at the audience.  
   
“So, do you have a nice young witch waiting for you to return home as the Victor?”  
   
Draco coughed. “No, not a witch.”  
   
“Ah,” Caesar said without a beat, “a nice boy waiting for you?”  
   
“There's... someone.” Draco looked down into his lap sadly. “But it's not going to happen.”  
   
“Boo,” Caesar said as the audience copied him. “Don't talk like that. You need some confidence. You could win the Games! Then you can have your pick!”  
   
The audience cheered again.  
   
“That wouldn't help.” Draco sat back and shook his head.  
   
“Aww,” the audience said as one.  
   
“Why is that?” Caesar asked gently, patting Draco on the knee.  
   
“He came here with me.”  
   
Caesar gasped. The audience gasped. I gasped. What?  _What?_  There were only two people there from Hogwarts. Aberforth—old, drunk, scruffy (but, admittedly, brilliant) Aberforth—and me. And as much as I didn't think Draco had feelings for Aberforth, there was absolutely no way that he fancied  _me_. He had  _never_  shown any inclination that there could be anything between us.  
   
There could be only one explanation. Draco was playing the crowd. Aberforth had drummed into us again and again that if you were liked, you got more gifts, and more gifts meant a better chance of survival. And Draco was obviously bloody using  _me_  to win over the rich old ladies. I wanted to strangle him!  
   
I didn't hear the rest of the interview. I couldn't, with the blood rushing in my ears. Draco walked into the hallway, but I didn't have time to say anything before Aberforth was rushing in, congratulating us both on 'spectacular interviews'.  
   
Without thinking, I ran at Draco and put my hands around his throat. Draco actually had the  _gall_  to look surprised at my actions.  
   
“Not here,” Aberforth growled, pulling me away from Draco and pointing to the Aurors who were now stationed at the end of the hallway.  
   
I seethed in silence all the way to our rooms. Draco didn't talk either. If I didn't know better, I'd believe the look of hurt on his face. Aberforth talked enough for both of us. He praised us both for our performances. Apparently, the audience loved us. I didn't know how he could tell; the stupid puppets cheered for everyone.  
   
The door to our rooms had barely closed when my hands were back around Draco's throat.  
   
“What the fuck?” I shouted in his face.  
   
Aberforth once again pulled me off and stood between us, wand out. “Stop it. You know you're not allowed to hurt each other before the Games.”  
   
“But—”  
   
“But nothing, Harry. It's the rules.”  
   
“Harry,” Draco said, still massaging his throats. “I'm sorry.”  
   
“For what? Using me?”  
   
“What? No!”  
   
“For fuck's sake. I watched you—”  
   
“Harry, listen to me.” Aberforth lowered his wand. “Draco just did you a huge favour. He helped you.”  
   
I spluttered.  _Helped me?_  
   
“He made you desirable. He gave you both a story. This whole charade is about entertaining the masses and if you do entertain them, they  _will_  pay. And no one can resist a love story. Now, we are going to have dinner and go over what happens in the morning again.”  
   
“Aberforth...”  
   
“It's bloody important, Harry. So get over yourself and fill your stomach. You're going to bloody need it.”  
   
Draco didn't say a word or even look in my direction. He simply sat down at the table and tried to help Avox with the dishes. As angry as I was with him, I couldn't help but smile at his attempts. Draco  _did_  tend to help people. He helped me enough with Potions in school, but that was probably so I wouldn't blow his cauldron up as well as my own. And he seemed to be adamant in making amends, or whatever it was, with Avox.  
   
Maybe it wasn't a selfish ploy. Maybe it  _was_  to help both of us.  
   
As I picked over the food that I couldn't bring myself to eat, Aberforth talked and talked about the morning. We'd been over it countless times before, but he was determined to go over it again.  
   
 _Gong goes off, run. Not before the gong, but immediately after._  
 _Grab something—preferably a bag—if it's within reach. Otherwise, just run._  
 _Don't attempt to enter the cornucopia._  
 _Find high ground._  
 _Wait for the initial bloodbath to be over._  
 _Find water, food, shelter._  
 _Kill or be killed._  
 _Survive as long as possible._  
   
By the time Aberforth had finished, I was exhausted. I knew for a fact that I wouldn't be getting any sleep that night—not any natural sleep, anyway.  
   
“I'm going to bed,” I said once the dishes had been cleared away. “Night.”  
   
Aberforth toasted me with his flask, a sad smile on his face.  
   
“Night,” Draco said, his first word to me all evening. “Sleep well.”  
   
Luckily, I found a tiny phial waiting for me beside the bed. Maybe I would get some sleep after all.  
   
~  
   
I woke up on the morning of the Games with a start. The potion must have been stronger than I thought, as I realised I'd slept right through the night. My stomach rumbled, but I couldn't face breakfast. I couldn't face Draco. Dressing quickly in the new jumpsuit laid out for me, I sneaked past the dining room and up to the roof. I needed some time. I needed to  _get away_ , if only for a few minutes.  
   
The sun was bright, without a cloud in the sky. It was unfair. The weather had no right to be so cheerful on a day like today. It should be dark and overcast; it should match my mood. I knew all across the wizarding world, witches and wizards would be gathering around their screens to watch the beginning of the Games. I'd heard tales of watching parties and I felt sick, thinking of people cheering as we fell one by one.  
   
I wondered if my friends would be watching. It was compulsory, of course. Screens would be constantly broadcasting the Games until the very last kill, and they were everywhere. In everyone's homes, in their workplaces, in school. But I wondered if Hermione would be hiding in Ron's arms or watching every second. I wondered if my fellow students would have to watch my death as they ate their treacle tart.  
   
I must have been on the roof for longer than I thought. When I finally summoned the courage to join Draco downstairs, he was nowhere to be seen, just one plate of food left on the table, a card in Draco's looping script saying ' _Eat_ ' beside it.  
   
Not knowing when I'd next get the chance—if ever—I quickly ate. Bacon and toast. Not a bad last meal, I thought idly. Not knowing what to do with the plate, I slid it around the table, putting it in the middle, to the side. Putting the cutlery neatly on top, and then moving it to the side. It was crazy. I was about to face my death, and I was worried about silverware. Wonderful. I was about to throw the bloody dirty dishes across the room, when I heard footsteps behind me.  
   
“Are you ready, lad?”  
   
I wiped at the wetness on my cheeks—when had I started crying?—and nodded at Aberforth, finding myself completely incapable of speech.  
   
“I know.”  
   
And he did, of course. Aberforth had actually done this all before. He knew perfectly what I was feeling. Wiping my cheeks again—seriously, I needed to stop crying—I stiffly held my arms to my sides in case I felt the urge to hug the man, and followed him from the room.  
   
Draco was in the hallway, sitting on a bench and also looking suspiciously red-eyed. He stood up as we passed and the three of us left our rooms without looking back. We didn't talk as we made our way down to the Apparation point. We'd said all we needed to say and done all we could do. Aberforth had given us all the information we needed; we'd trained as much as we could. We had our wands. There was nothing else to do. We couldn't run away; we had to do this. We had to take the arms of the Aurors and be led to our certain deaths.  
   
All in the name of entertainment. May the odds be ever in our favour.  
   
~  
   
Day One.  
 _None down. Twenty three to go._  
   
We were all positioned on twenty four platforms, equally spread around a large empty space. We'd be transported to the arena any second and I felt sick. My legs felt like jelly; I didn't know how I was holding myself up. I didn't know what would happen if I made a run for it now, but it would probably be  _bad_. There was nowhere to run to anyway; we'd be Apparated by the Aurors and left. I didn't even know where we were.  
   
I tried to look for Draco, and caught sight of him just as I felt myself being hooked behind my navel. The platforms themselves must have been Portkeys.  
   
The arena itself was enormous. I couldn't see exactly how big it was. The area we were transported to was big enough. The Champions were all positioned exactly as we were in the empty room, but there was now a huge golden cave positioned between us, filled with everything we might need. There were weapons of all kinds, food, bottles of water. The cornucopia.  
   
I saw why Aberforth had been adamant that we stay away from it. It was enticing. Everything I could hope for to win the Games in one shiny place. I also saw why they called the initial killing spree the bloodbath. I could see several eyes eagerly taking in what was right in front of them, but I could also see several, more evil, eyes looking ready to kill.  
   
Finding Draco again, I caught him shaking his head at me.  _Don't attempt to enter the cornucopia._ We'd both been given the same advice; now I just needed to decide whether I was going to take it.  
   
A musical chime played loudly. “Welcome to the 74th Hunger Games,” the booming voice of Seneca Crane came from above us. “At the third gong, the Games will begin. May the odds be ever in your favour.”  
   
 _Gong._  
   
My hand hovered over my waist. I knew touching my wand before the third gong would result in my early demise, but I needed to be ready. I spotted a crossbow, just inside the entrance to the cornucopia. I knew I was fast, but could I be fast enough?  
   
 _Gong._  
   
Draco was still shaking his head at me.  _Run_ , Aberforth's words rang through my head.  _Gong goes off, run._ I looked around quickly. Just to the right of me was a backpack. It could contain something useful. It could contain nothing but rocks.  _Grab something—preferably a bag—if it's within reach. Otherwise, just run._  
   
 _Gong._  
   
Without skipping a beat, I grabbed my wand and ran. I'd meant to try for the cornucopia, I had, but I didn't. Aberforth's words must have struck something, I didn't know. I just knew I had to get that backpack and bloody  _run_.  
   
As I ran, I could feel the heat of spells behind me. I could hear the thuds as bodies fell to the ground. I listened out for the bongs to indicate any deaths, but I still ran.  
   
 _Find high ground. Wait for the bloodbath to be over._  
   
I could feel my lungs burning as I pushed myself to keep moving, the backpack thumping me on the back with every step. I couldn't tell how long I'd actually been running, I just knew I couldn't stop. Ignoring the pain in my chest, I kept going until I couldn't hear the swooshing of firing spells or the cracking as my fellow Champions fell one by one.  
   
When I could no longer run, I walked, looking behind constantly. I didn't stop, not until I knew I'd put a lot of distance between myself and whoever else was left. The area with the cornucopia must have been in a small valley, as the ground sloped up with the open ground gradually turning into small copses and eventually, thankfully, into a dense forest. Yes, what I needed. At last.  
   
Tucking my wand into my sleeve, I climbed the sturdiest tree I could find, settling myself on a high branch that looked strong enough to support me. I was exhausted; I must have walked for hours. As I caught my breath, the bongs started.  
   
 _Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong._  
   
Eight dead. Eight champions who either ignored their mentor's advice or otherwise hadn't been given it in the first place. I suddenly felt overwhelming respect for Aberforth. If he hadn't been so adamant, I might have tried to reach that crossbow. I might have been reduced to a bong, indicating my death.  
   
I didn't know who had been killed. That wouldn't be known until the evening, when their pictures would light up the sky. I just hoped with all my heart that Draco wasn't going to be one of them.  
   
I'd, thankfully, followed Aberforth's advice and survived the initial bloodbath. Now the Games would really begin. It wasn't only the other Champions that I had to worry about. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything since breakfast, and it seemed an age since I'd seen Draco's scrawled message and eaten that bacon.  
   
 _Find water, food, shelter._  
   
Looking around my immediate vicinity, I realised that the tree was the best shelter I could hope for at the time, and it was just food and drink I was missing. I'd resisted delving into the backpack so far—if I didn't look, I could pretend it held everything I needed—but pretending wasn't going to keep me alive, so I carefully manoeuvred it off my back without falling from the tree.  
   
I was alarmed to see the slashes on the outside of the bag, obviously having been hit. Grabbing the bag had probably saved me, from some nasty cuts, if not my death. Apparently, I'd been closer to being a bong than I'd thought. Relief washed over me as I checked over the contents. A sleeping bag, some rope, a bottle of water, and some small packets of biscuits. Brilliant. I wouldn't even have to leave my tree.  
   
At the bottom of the bag, I noticed a stick of what looked to be some dynamite and a small box of matches, but I didn't even take those out of the rucksack. I definitely didn't want to draw attention to myself, and detonating an explosive was a sure-fire way of doing just that.  
   
Knowing the minds of the Gamemakers, they'd soon send something to make sure I contributed some entertainment to the Games, so I decided to rest as long as possible. Casting a tethering spell on myself to ensure I didn't fall from the branch, I quickly ate some of the biscuits and sipped the water. Not knowing when I'd get more fresh water, I saved most of it.  
   
After eating, I set some standard spells to warn me of anyone approaching, shuffled into my sleeping bag and tried to rest for a while. The exhaustion of the day soon took over, and I fell asleep, waking only when the sun had set and the musical notes that heralded an announcement sounded.  
   
I looked to the sky as the faces of the dead were projected, fearful of whose faces I'd see.  
   
Lin from China. Both of the boys from Australia (no coin toss for them). Shannon from the United States. Anna from Germany. Ingrid from South Africa. And both Vincent and Ramon from Nigeria.  
   
Immediately, I felt bad for not feeling anything at their deaths. I was just grateful that Draco wasn't among them. Their families, friends and schools would be mourning them, I didn't need to. What I needed was to survive as long as possible, and I had a feeling that I had a long night ahead of me.  
   
 _Survive, as long as possible._  
   
Checking my spells were still active and taking another short sip of water, I settled back onto my branch. I wasn't going to move if I  _absolutely_  didn't have to.  
   
~  
   
Day Two  
 _Eight down. Fifteen to go._  
   
I was woken by the bongs indicating a fallen Champion three more times that night. I, again, didn't focus on who it could be, knowing that, unless I stumbled across them through the day, I'd find out in the nightly death toll. Besides, I imagined there would be a few more bongs before then.  
   
I couldn't have been very entertaining, hiding out in my tree, but I didn't care. I knew I'd have to move eventually, but until then, I was staying right where I was. I passed the time by going over the new spells I'd discovered at training.  
   
Struggling as I was with the complicated wrist movement required for a Garotting Spell, I almost missed the soft buzzing of my perimeter alarms. Quietly stuffing my sleeping bag and water bottle back into the rucksack—I definitely didn't want to leave them behind if I needed to make a quick break for it—I moved down a couple of branches to see who—or what—had set off the alarm.  
   
Two overly-large dark-headed boys and two blonde girls. Brilliant, my first meeting with another Champion, and I had to run into the Careers.  _Kill, or be killed_. I could guess which one was going to occur.  
   
“He's got to be around here somewhere,” Helena said, with an ugly look on her face I hadn't seen before. “The spell said there was someone this way.”  
   
My alarms hadn't gone off, so I didn't know who the hell they were talking about.  
   
“He's probably hiding in a cave somewhere with his boyfriend,” Oleg said, scrunching his face up in disgust.  
   
So, they were looking for me or Draco, then. At least, as far as the Careers knew, Draco was still alive.  
   
“Imagine being the one to kill him,” Viktor said, rubbing his hands in glee. “Not even the Dark Lord could do it.”  
   
So, me, then. The four of them laughed manically. Bastards. A dull thud drew all four of their gazes in the opposite direction of my tree.  
   
“Mine!” Marie shouted, running off, wand in hand, the others in quick pursuit.  
   
I felt sorry for the poor sod who'd made the thud. Minutes passed and their was no sign of them coming back, so I climber back up to my branch to think over what to do next. A small rustling startled me. I'd forgotten to reset the alarms. Bollocks.  
   
Wand out, I searched the area for the source of the noise. I could just about make out a small figure hunched in some branches a couple of trees from mine. Alan.  
   
Firstly, I was amazed. I'd thought he would have been one of the first to die. I immediately felt guilty for doubting him when he held up his catapult and mimed throwing a rock in the opposite direction. It was him! He'd sent the Careers off.  
   
 _Thank you_ , I mouthed.  
   
Alan smiled, but looked a little scared. Realising I still had my wand pointed at him, I quickly shook my head and slid it back into my sleeve.  _Kill, or be killed_. There was no way, Games or not, I could've killed Alan, whether he'd just saved my life or not. He was bloody tiny.  
   
Trying to show him that I wasn't going to hurt him, I showed him my water bottle and offered it to him. His eyes lit up and he licked his lips, obviously thirsty, so I flicked my wand and sent it to him. I winced as he gulped it eagerly, but I was glad that I could help in some small way. I'd find some more. I had to.  
   
Alan looked hopefully at me, pointing to my bag. Guessing what he wanted, I grabbed the biscuits and sent those to him too. I hadn't seen anyone so happy to see food since Aunt Petunia announced Dudley was going off his diet. We sat in our respective trees in silence; I didn't have a clue what to do, and neither, obviously, did Alan.  
   
 _Cold_ , Alan mouthed after a while, shivering.  
   
I frowned. It wasn't cold—it was actually quite warm now that the sun was up. And yet I too could feel coldness seeping into me, and it wasn't the usual cold feeling. It was worse. It had been my worst nightmare ever since that Azkaban breakout a few years ago.  
   
Dementors.  
   
My wand was in my hand before I could finish processing the thought, ready to cast my Patronus. I needed to wait until the last possible moment as I had never been able to produce one silently and I didn't want to draw anybody else to our location.  
   
Gesturing to Alan to stay still and quiet, I climbed down the branches again, and waited for the shadowy beings. The cold intensified and I could see them in the distance, unmistakeable for people as they glided through the trees. I quickly brought a happy memory to the front of my mind and held my wand steady.  
   
“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_  
   
My stag emerged from my wand, as huge as it had been in the Gamemakers' room, and it charged forwards, splitting the Dementors in two and driving them on opposite directions. I'd never cast a Patronus in the presence of a real Dementor, and was quite surprised when it didn't dissipate, but instead circled around me, protecting me. I was about to call Alan down from his tree when a scream rent the air.  
   
“HARRY!”  
   
 _Draco_. For fuck's sake. I sent bloody Dementors towards Draco.  
   
“Stay here,” I whispered to Alan, not knowing who else had heard Draco's scream. “I'll come back for you, I promise.”  
   
Wand out, I ran through the trees towards the sound of Draco's voice, my stag galloping along silently beside me. A loud bong sounded, startling me. No! It couldn't be Draco. It  _couldn't_.  
   
Picking up speed, I reached Draco in seconds, and I nearly screamed myself at the sight of him lying on the ground, a Dementor hovering over him, with more gliding around.  
   
With a point of my wand, my stag barrelled towards them, the Dementors driven back with the force of my Patronus.  
   
“Draco,” I cried, dropping to my knees beside him. “Draco, say something.”  
   
“Harry?”  
   
“Yes, it's me. Come on,” I said, lifting him to his feet, “we need to find shelter.”  
   
We walked—well, I walked, dragging Draco—until I spotted a small cave. Once inside, I propped Draco up against the wall and covered him in the sleeping bag. He needed to warm up, and quickly. Unfortunately, the only cure I knew for a meeting with Dementors was chocolate, and I didn't think I'd find any bars of Honeyduke's best lying around the forest.  
   
“You,” Draco said, shakily sitting up, “you came back for me. You saved me.”  
   
“Of course,” I said, a warm feeling suddenly hitting me. “Always.” I knelt down to him and kissed him on the forehead. “Try and sleep. I'll keep a watch out.”  
   
I needed to get Draco better. It was my only thought. If Draco didn't warm up soon, there would be nothing I could do for him. I wasn't about to let that happen. For all my thoughts of keeping Draco at arm's length, I suddenly found myself not wanting to leave his side. I realised something, as I stroked Draco's hair to calm him down. The memory I'd brought to the front of my mind to cast  my patronus hadn't been Christmas in the Burrow. It had been of us sitting on the roof, pretending to be sheep.  
   
What did it mean? I didn't have time to think about it too deeply, though. I needed to find a way to help Draco, and soon. I also needed to get back to Alan, but the kid had survived so far without my help and I didn't want to leave Draco alone while he was still whimpering in terror.  
   
Minutes—I didn't have a clue how many—passed and I could feel my eyes drooping when a feather landed on my knee. Confused, I picked it up, only for it to disappear with a pop, a small bar of chocolate taking its place.  
   
“Draco,” I said, shaking him awake. “Quick, wake up.”  
   
“Wanna sleep.”  
   
I shook him again, a little harder. “Come on, please, wake up. Eat this; it'll make you feel better. I promise.”  
   
Draco opened his eyes, saw the chocolate and ate it eagerly, colour returning to his cheeks almost immediately.  
   
“Now you,” Draco said, pushing the rest of the chocolate into my hand.  
   
I looked at him strangely and then I noticed my hands. How long had I been shaking? Taking a bite, I felt warmth flow through me and I laughed. I couldn't help it. Whether it was a reaction to the chocolate or the realisation that Draco was going to be okay; I couldn't tell.  
   
Before long, Draco joined in. We must have made quite the spectacle, hiding in a cave, chocolate spattered mouths and laughing like mad men.  
   
“Thank you,” Draco said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “For coming back for me.”  
   
“You're welcome,” I said, my eyes drawn to his lips.  
   
Before I could stop myself, I was leaning in and kissing him fully on the lips. I didn't know what I was doing; I hadn't meant to kiss him. One second I was thinking that maybe I'd want to kiss him, what it would be like to kiss him, and then I  _did._  
   
My first instinct was to push away and apologise; I didn't want to hurt him, in any way, but as Draco deepened the kiss, I melted into it. It wasn't my first kiss, but it was definitely the best I'd had. Without a second thought, I slipped my hands up and cradled Draco's head, kissing him with as much as I could give.  
   
Apparently, I could give a lot, as I pushed so hard we tumbled back until we were sprawled out in the dirt of the floor. We broke apart, laughing, and brushed each other off as much as possible. A feather floated down and landed on Draco's chest. He picked it up, looking as confused as I had, and it, too, disappeared with a pop, a bottle of water appearing instead in Draco's hand.  
   
“Thanks, Ab,” I said to the ceiling, and Draco laughed. I shrugged. “It's not as if he can do anything about it now.”  
   
“What now? I guess we're sticking together.”  
   
The hopeful look on his face pained me. As much as I wanted to tell him no, to tell him to bugger off, I couldn't. I knew, without a doubt, however much time was left, I wanted to spend it with him. When I thought Draco had been hurt, my first thought hadn't been of my own safety, it had been of helping Draco. I should've known then, but the kiss. Fuck, that had sealed it.  
   
“I suppose we'll have to find a coin.”  
   
“Harry.”  
   
“I know.” I wrapped my arms around him. “We'll figure something out. Let's just take things one step at a time.”  
   
“Okay,” he said, “there's a long way to go yet.”  
   
~  
   
Leaving Draco in the cave—against his wishes—I quickly went to find Alan and bring him back to shelter with us. I was under no illusion that the Gamemakers would allow us to hide out in the cave for very long, but until that point, it was safer than anything else.  
   
Draco managed to scrounge some berries for us to eat and it weirdly felt like a camping trip, the three of us huddled under my sleeping bag, sipping water and telling stories about our schools. It couldn't have made for fun watching, but it was definitely a welcome change to what else could be happening.  
   
Just as Draco was regaling Alan with tales of the tricks he and his friends had played on the other houses (on  _me,_ more often than not), I heard a buzzing. Shushing Draco quickly, we listened as the buzzing got louder—and closer.  
   
“Run!” Alan said suddenly, trying to drag us out of the cave. “It's Doxies!”  
   
Not wanting to doubt him, we grabbed our things and followed him from the cave running until we couldn't hear the buzzing any longer. Catching my breath, I pointed to a large tree and we climbed. Once we were settled high above the ground, I cast the usual warning spells while Draco tethered us to the branches.  
   
“Doxies?” I asked Alan. “I didn't know they were dangerous.”  
   
“We have them back home. Their poison can kill you in minutes without the antidote.”  
   
I really should have paid more attention in Hagrid's class.  
   
“Thanks,” Draco said, passing out more berries. “That's bloody great. Not only do we have to worry about other people trying to kill us, we have to worry about fucking biting fairies.”  
   
“We should eat and then get some rest,” I said, trying to calm Draco down. “Who knows what they have planned for us next.”  
   
Before we could close our eyes, the musical notes started playing. Looking to the sky, we could see the faces of the fallen Champions.  
   
Yuko from Japan. Cody from States. Carlos from Spain. Marie from France.  
   
I did feel a stab of  _something_  at seeing Carlos' face. I'd spoken to him; he'd seemed so strong. I wondered who killed Marie; surely it was too early for the Careers to be turning on each other.  
   
I took Draco's hand as I could feel myself drifting off to sleep.  
   
“Don't worry,” Draco said, squeezing my hand gently. “I'll keep watch.”  
   
~  
   
Day Three  
 _Twelve down. Eleven to go._  
   
I woke to Draco shaking me. “Harry, wake up, now,” he whispered.  
   
Startled, I came to my senses almost immediately, wand out. “What is it?”  
   
“My bloody magic isn't working,” Draco said shaking his head, as if he'd done something wrong.  
   
“ _Lumos_ ,” I said quietly, yet no light appeared at the end of my wand. “What the fuck?  _Lumos!_ ”  
   
“I have no idea. Something they cooked up, I suppose. I only found out when the tethering spells faded and I almost fell from the tree.”  
   
“Alan?”  
   
“He's still asleep. I thought I'd leave you to wake him up. We're going to have to move, though. We need to find food and water before the sun comes up fully.”  
   
Waking Alan—who was more than a little freaked out at the thought of his wand being useless—we set out to find some sustenance, all three of us a little on edge without any magical protection.  
   
“We should split up,” Draco said, pointing to the sky. “The sun will be up fully soon and we have no weapons to defend ourselves.”  
   
“Alan, you try to find some shelter, I'll find some water and Draco, can you find us some food?”  
   
Alan looked scared, so I put my hand on his shoulder. I didn't know what to say to him. “We'll meet back here as soon as possible,” I said, forcing a smile and the three of us set off in separate directions. “We'll be all right, I promise.”  
   
I walked until I could feel the ground beneath my feet turn bouncy and boggy. Kneeling down, I felt the earth, smiling when it felt moist. I crawled along the earth until I felt mud, and finally, a small stream. Grabbing the water bottles, I filled them quickly, almost dropping them as an ear piercing scream ripped through the air.  
   
I was on my feet in seconds, running back to the meeting place. My first thought was Draco, but the scream sounded  _younger_. Alan. Fuck. I ran faster, wand out before I remembered that it was useless. I didn't have the first clue what I was going to find, and I didn't know what I was going to do anyway. I had no magic and no weapons. What was I going to do? Throw my water bottles at them?  
   
 _Bong._  
   
I cried out when I reached the clearing. Alan was sprawled out on the ground, his face bloodied and bruised, his limbs splayed out at awkward angles. I dropped down beside him, smoothing his blood-matted hair from his eyes.  
   
Looking around, I listened carefully for his attacker—or attackers—and could hear grunts and thuds through the trees.  
   
“I'm sorry,” I whispered to him, wiping my eyes.  
   
The grunts stopped suddenly and another loud bong sounded.  _Draco_. Taking off quickly, I ran through the trees, hoping I wouldn't find what I feared I would. I saw the bloodied body on the floor and nearly screamed before I noticed the black hair.  _Thank fuck for that._ It was Oliver, the boy from Germany. I didn't have a bloody clue who could have beaten him to death, but I was damn sure that I didn't want to be around to find out. Besides, I needed to find Draco.  
   
I could hear rustling in the trees behind me, and I was on my feet in seconds, looking around desperately for something to use as a weapon. Spotting a thick bat on the ground beside Oliver's body, I lunged for it. I knew I didn't have a chance in hell of wielding it with any kind of accuracy, but it was better than nothing. I whirled around to face my would be attacker, only to come face to face with a blood- and tear-stained Draco.  
   
“He killed Alan,” Draco said, limping slightly, a blood-stained stick dangling from his hand. “I was close to the clearing when I heard Alan's cry, so I grabbed a branch and tried to stop him. He got the upper hand and chased me here.”  
   
“It's okay,” I said, taking the bloodied branch from him. “Kill or be killed, remember?”  
   
Draco rubbed at his bloodied and bruised knuckles. “Kill or be killed.”  
   
~  
   
Being without magic, we didn't want to stay in one place for too long. I'd given Draco the bat, as he knew best how to use it and I hated feeling defenceless. I couldn't count how many times I'd tried simple spells, hoping that magic had been restored, but to no avail.  
   
Two more bongs sounded as we walked and it scared me. It was getting close to the end now. We needed weapons, and we needed them soon.  
   
“What do you think of trying the cornucopia? We could get some weapons.”  
   
“What?” Draco stopped and grabbed my arm. “Are you fucking crazy?”  
   
“We need—”  
   
“What we need,” Draco said, elongating his words as if talking to a toddler, “is to stay alive. And walking right up to the place where the people who want to kill us probably are is not the best way to accomplish that.”  
   
“But—”  
   
“No buts, Harry. We'll figure something out.” Draco flexed his fingers and I could see his knuckles were a mess.  
   
“We need to clean your hands,” I said, looking around for somewhere to shelter while we did so. “They're going to get infected if we leave them like that.”  
   
“They're fine; let's keep going.”  
   
“No.” I pointed to a small cave on the hillside. “There, come on.”  
   
I couldn't protect us, not until our magic returned or unless a crossbow landed on my lap, but I could help Draco. His fists weren't going to be any use if they were badly injured anyway. When I told Draco that, he finally agreed.  
   
I used one of the water bottles and a ripped off corner of my cloak to clean his wounds, wincing myself as Draco gritted his teeth in pain.  
   
“I wish we had some potions.”  
   
“Potions?” Draco said, his eyes lighting up.  
  
“Yeah, for the pain. Can you make—”  
   
“Harry! You're a bloody genius!”  
   
“Shush!” I said, trying to calm him down. “Genius?” I asked when he stopped jumping about and instead simply grinned like a loon.  
   
“Potions! We can't cast spells, but there is nothing to stop us making potions.”  
   
“For the pain?”  
   
“No! For everyone else!”  
   
“You want to make potions for the others?”  
   
“We—well, I—can make something and put it in the water. It doesn't even have to be fatal. Just to give us an edge.”  
   
Draco started listing potions he could make with ingredients he could find in the forest. I liked seeing Draco so enthusiastic; it reminded me of school. I liked his plan; it had promise. It just had one fatal flaw.  
   
“Draco, do you happen to have a cauldron in your pocket?”  
  
“What? Of course—” Draco sat back down dejectedly. “Oh.”  
   
“It  _is_ a good plan, though. I bet there's a cauldron in the cornucopia.”  
   
“You're right.”  
   
“But—what? I'm right?”  
   
“We'd need a distraction, of course. Draw anybody that's at the cornucopia away. And we know exactly what they want, don't we?”  
   
“Me?”  
   
“You.”  
   
We snacked on the nuts and berries Draco had found while we made our plan, but my stomach still grumbled. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I tried to mask it, but it growled louder.  
   
“What I wouldn't give for some hot food,” Draco said, as his own stomach growled.  
   
“Maybe if this all works out,” I said, passing him the last of the water. “I'll find a crossbow and catch us something.”  
   
“Because you're a master hunter all of a sudden?” Draco spat out.  
   
“Woah, where'd that come from?”  
   
Draco dropped his head to his chest and crossed his arms. “I'm sorry. I'm just hungry.”  
   
“Come here,” I said, pulling him to me and trying my best to keep his mind occupied, kissing him.  
   
“What was that for?” Draco said when we paused for a breath.  
   
“Like I need a reason,” I said, poking him in the ribs.  
   
I was shocked at how my attitude towards Draco had changed. It was if a switch had been flicked inside me. I wasn't blind; I'd always liked Draco. I just assumed that if anything happened, it happened. People said that you shouldn't die with regrets, so I figured that that was what had happened. I could be dead within hours; why the fuck shouldn't I go for it?  
   
A feather floated appeared and Draco caught it before it fell to the ground. It disappeared with the expected pop, with a small flask taking its place.  
   
Draco eagerly unscrewed the top. “Soup!” Offering it to me, he smiled widely. “Thanks, Ab!”  
   
Feeling a lot better after we'd finished the soup, I relaxed back against the cave wall. “You know,” I said sleepily, “I should kiss you more often. We get food whenever I do.”  
   
I laughed, expecting Draco to join in. When I received only silence at my joke, I opened my eyes and sat up. “Draco?”  
   
“I should've fucking known.”  
   
“What are you talking about?”  
   
“You only kissed me to get food?”  
   
“What? No!”  
   
“You just said—”  
   
“No! I meant—”  
   
Draco stood up and stormed out of the cave, only pausing to pick up his bat.  
   
“Draco, stop!” I followed him, trying not to shout too loud. I had to stop him. I had to make him understand that it was only a joke. “Draco, come back!”  
   
Luckily, being a lot faster than him, I caught up with Draco quickly. I really didn't fancy running around looking for him with only a sleeping bag to defend myself. I grabbed his hand to stop him, not expecting the punch to the face.  
   
“OW!” I shouted, rubbing my cheek, cursing inwardly for making so much noise. “Stop it!” I needed to show him that I actually wanted to kiss him; I needed to show him that I wasn't just after free food.  
   
Pulling him towards me, I kissed him. Hard.  
   
Draco pushed himself off me. “What? You fancied a sandwich?”  
   
“No, I just really wanted to kiss you. I like you; I've liked you for a long time. I promise. It was just a joke.”  
   
“A joke?”  
   
Realising how my words could've been construed, I grasped his hand again. “The food. I was joking about the food.”  
   
“What's the point, anyway? It's not like anything can happen. We can't both win.”  
   
I didn't want to think about that. I wanted to go ahead with the plan and see where it took us. “One step at a time, remember?”  
   
“One step at a time,” Draco repeated.  
   
 _Survive as long as possible._  
   
“Now,” I said, looking around at a rustling in the distance, “let's get out of here.”  
   
“We have a plan to put into action,” Draco said, leading the way.  
   
~  
   
The plan was simple. We had no magic and very little to work with, so, out of necessity, it had to be.  
   
We managed to get close enough to the cornucopia to see if our plan was feasible, and it was better than we thought. The remaining Careers were together and using it as their base. We were surprised to see the boy from China with them, but as a loud noise in the distance drew the Careers to run off and investigate, they left Xiu behind.  
   
“Fodder,” Draco said. “Clever bastards.”  
   
“Is that a problem?”  
   
“No. As long as you can keep them away, I can do it.”  
   
Draco was the most instrumental to the plan, I was just bait, so I needed to go over and over it again until I was as sure as I could be that it might pay off.  
   
“Again,” I said as two bongs went off loudly, the three Careers running back to their camp, unharmed.  
   
Draco, used to Aberforth repeating the same information again and again, just rolled his eyes.  
   
“Come on.”  
   
“Okay. Viktor, Oleg and Helena. They're at the cornucopia. They need someone to guard their stuff while they're off killing us, so that's probably why Xiu is still alive.”  
   
“The others?”  
   
“Belle, Yann and Eriko. Well, I suppose,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “there's only one of them left now.”  
   
The thought didn't warm me at all. “And the plan?”  
   
“Harry, for fuck's sake. It either works or we die. It's not difficult.”  
   
He stormed off and I quickly followed.  
   
“And,” he added turning back to me, “we  _have_  to do this.”  
   
~  
   
“Ready?” Draco asked, crouching down on the ground. At my nod, he rubbed two sticks together.  
   
“Wait!” I said, crouching down to him and kissing him quickly. “Now I'm ready.”  
   
We had the matches in the bag, but we couldn't use them. We needed them for the second stage of the plan. Smoke soon appeared, and Draco stood quickly, checking the rucksack was secure on his back.  
   
“Run. Now.”  
   
I ran off in the opposite direction to Draco, only looking back to check that no one was following me. I didn't need to get too far away, just far enough to see if the Careers came to check out the fire.  
   
It didn't take long for the smoke to reach above the trees, and within minutes, the three Champions appeared, weapons at the ready. Closing my eyes for a second and hoped to Merlin that I wasn't about to die, I started running again.  
   
“DRACO!” I shouted as loud as I could. “WHERE ARE YOU? DRACO!”  
   
As I ran, I could hear the fevered talk of the three Champions pursuing me, but I didn't—couldn't—stop running. It was part of the plan, after all. I had never been more grateful for my small stature and fast legs as I ran. I even found myself strangely thankful for Dudley. It had been his chasing me that had prepared me for this, after all.  
   
Abruptly changing direction, I didn't slow down as I shouted again. “DRACO!” I wasn't even pretending to shout for him that time. Where the fuck was he? He should have made it to the cornucopia by now.  
   
I kept running, but I could feel my chest hurting, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. “DRACO! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”  
   
BOOM!  
   
Thank fuck for that. I was seriously starting to wonder if Draco had forgotten the plan, or worse, something had happened to him. I quickly climbed the closest tree to see the damage. Thick, black smoke billowed out of the clearing where the cornucopia was and I silently cheered. He'd done it. Draco had blown their bloody camp up. I needn't have been so silent, as I was sure that the bang was more than enough to send the Careers back to their base.  
   
I stayed where I was for a few minutes, mainly to make sure there was no one about, but also because I still needed to catch my breath. So far, so good. From where I was sitting, it looked like everything had gone to plan; I just needed to get back to the meeting point and hope Draco was there waiting for me.  
   
 _Bong._  Fuck. It couldn't be Draco. The explosives has gone off a while ago, Draco should have been far away from the cornucopia.  
   
When I was certain that no other Champions were around, I made my way to the first cave we'd sheltered in. It was the only place we could decide on meeting. Trying my best to keep my mind off Draco, I walked steadily, looking around constantly for any sound of approaching footsteps.  
   
I also hoped the doxies had cleared out. As I reached the cave, I groaned. It didn't matter whether the doxies were there or not, not with the huge rock covering the entrance.  
   
“Harry!”  
   
Relief washed over me when I heard Draco's voice; I ran towards him. “Did you get it?”  
   
“Yes, and,” he said, turning around, “I got you a present.”  
   
I couldn't believe the relief I felt as I took the crossbow from Draco. It wasn't close to having my magic back, but still—I wasn't defenceless any more. It felt pretty damn amazing.  
   
“Thank you,” I said sincerely, hugging Draco close.  
   
“Come on, let's get started.”  
   
~  
   
Watching Draco as he gathered the ingredients he needed was fascinating. I kept watch from a tree as he worked, keeping an eye out for other Champions and any other dangers, my crossbow held firmly in hand. Draco picked leaves, flowers and berries that I didn't even recognise without a second look. He knew what he wanted and he worked fast. Before long, his cauldron was full of green, orange and purple. I didn't even know what potion he was making, and, by the look on Draco's face, I didn't really want to know.  
   
I caught a small movement out of the corner of my eye and I quickly scoured the tree line to see what it was, immediately on full alert. Quick as a flash, Gloria ran out of her hiding place, sword raised and trained on Draco. She hadn't made a sound. I didn't blink; I didn't even have time to think.  
   
I just shot her. Straight through the heart.  
   
 _Bong._  
   
I thought I'd feel different, somehow. I thought, when the time came, after I'd killed someone with my own hands, I'd be physically sick. I thought I'd feel  _something_. Yet, as Draco dragged me away, I could only hear Aberforth's voice.  
   
“Kill or be killed.”  
   
“I know.” Draco pulled at my arm to make me move faster. “Kill or be killed.”  
   
“Wait.” I stopped, looking back over my shoulder. “The potion. Did you—”  
   
“Yes. I have everything. Now it just needs to be brewed. And I really need to be alive for that, so let's move the fuck along.”  
   
We spent the remainder of the day deep in the forest, where the tightly packed trees offered some measure of cover. Using the rope, I fashioned a crude perimeter around us while Draco worked on his potion. The rope wouldn't offer any sort of protection, but it would warn us of anything approaching and give us time to defend ourselves. Or so I hoped.  
   
I just needed to do something useful while Draco worked. I'd seen Draco making potions before, of course—three times a week for the past six years, to be exact—but this seemed different. The look of pure concentration on Draco's face was new. He seemed to make potions like somebody else would make a cup of tea. It was easy to him, but this one—it obviously was incredibly difficult.  
   
“What is this, anyway?” I asked, peering into the small cauldron. “What will it do?”  
   
Draco sighed. “Put it this way,” he said grimly. “This isn't anything Snape has ever taught. I found it in one of Father's books. And as to what it does...”  
   
I gasped when Draco took one of my arrows, cut his hand and let his blood drip into the cauldron. I didn't know an awful lot about potions, but I did know that the ones that required blood weren't made lightly.  
   
“You don't want to know.”  
   
I'd been worried about the smoke from the fire, but Draco explained that it needed an initial burst of heat, and then it would just need to be left stewing for a few hours. That was easily accomplished with the moss he'd had me gather; it doused the fire quickly, not leaving any smoke. The difficulty, Draco told me when I finally asked, was the precise ingredient order and stirring regime. And the blood, of course.  
   
By the time Draco had finished, the sun had long since set. Luckily, the moon was bright and we could see enough to camouflage the cauldron and climb into the tree above it to try and get some rest. Using the last of the rope to tie ourselves to a thick branch, I covered us with the sleeping bag and closed my eyes.  
   
I was wondering if I'd be able to sleep when the now-familiar musical noted chimed.  
   
Oliver. Yann. Eriko. Gloria. Xiu.  _Alan._  
   
“I'll take first watch,” I said, taking hold of my crossbow. After seeing Alan's face in the sky, I knew I wouldn't be sleeping any time soon, so I might as well let Draco rest as much as I could.  
   
Tomorrow was going to be a big day one way or another. It  _was_ going to be the last day of the Games. I was sure of it.  
   
~  
   
Day Four  
 _Eighteen down. Five to go._  
   
I tried my best to stay awake, but after a couple of hours I could feel my eyes drooping. Not wanting to leave us unprotected, I shook Draco slightly to wake him up. He couldn't shoot well with the bow, but it was better than nothing.  
   
“Draco,” I whispered into his ear. “Wake up!”  
   
“ _Stupefy!”_  he said, obviously acting on instinct.  
   
Only my quick reflexes from years of Quidditch saved me from the spell, darting out of the way and almost falling out of the tree doing so.  
   
“Sorry,” Draco said quickly, grabbing my arm and pulling me more securely onto the branch. “I just—”  
   
“You almost stupefied me!”  
   
“I said I was sorry!”  
   
“Draco,” I said, wondering how long it would take for him to catch on.  
   
“What? I almost...” His eyes widened. “I almost stupefied you!”  
   
I laughed and whipped out my wand. “ _Lumos_ ,” I said quickly, laughing again as my wand lit up.  
   
“It's back! What time is it?”  
   
“ _Tempus.”_  
   
“It's still early,” Draco said, swiping his wand through the air, casting the alarm spells. “You go to sleep; I'll keep watch.”  
   
I smiled as Draco practically fondled his wand. Not letting my own leave my hand, I drifted off to sleep, confident that we were safe for now.  
   
When I woke up, the sun was peeking through the trees and Draco was nowhere to be seen. Climbing down quietly, I called for him.  
   
“I'm here,” Draco said, appearing from behind a tree. “I just went to get some fresh water. I've already decanted the potion into some bottles—it's in the ones with the blue tops, so don't drink those. We need to find something to eat and get moving.”  
   
“Are we going to bother with the potion then?” I asked, gingerly prodding a blue-topped bottle with my wand.  
   
“Might as well; it's made now. First, food. Shall I—”  
   
“No, I'll get something.”  
   
Leaving Draco to pack up our remaining things, I went in search of breakfast. Despite Draco's earlier scepticism of my hunting skills, I did manage to catch a small **r** abbit, which after some of Molly's spells, turned into quite a tasty meal.  
   
“Let's go and get this over with,” I said after we'd eaten.  
   
“Okay, I'll just grab the—”  
   
“What's the matter?” I asked as Draco frantically searched through the undergrowth and rifled through the backpack.  
   
“There's only one blue bottle! There was two. I know there was. I transfigured two extra bottles and changed the colour myself. There were two bottles of potion. Now there's only one.”  
   
I dropped to my knees and helped him look, not having a bloody clue where it could have gone.  
   
 _Bong._  
   
“Leave it,” I said quickly. “You said we only needed a small amount for it to work; come on. We have to go.”  
   
We hadn't walked twenty yards when we came across Belle, lying dead on the ground, a blue-topped bottle in her hands.  
   
“She must have sneaked up on us,” Draco said, bending down to carefully take the bottle from her hand. “I didn't even see her.”  
   
“What are you doing?” I asked, a little freaked out that another Champion had been that close to us and we hadn't even noticed. I must've forgotten to reset the perimeter alarms in my joy at hunting down breakfast.  
   
Draco carefully screwed the top back on the half-empty bottle and tucked it into the side pocket of the rucksack. “Maybe one of the others is thirsty as well.”  
   
Knowing that there were only the three remaining Careers left, we decided to dump the potion into the stream closest to their camp—or what was left of it. We had enough water to last a while and Draco had blown up their supplies, so it seemed the logical thing to do. We walked along in silence, both of us jumping at the sudden sound of the familiar musical chimes.  
   
With only five of us left, and the Games obviously nearing their end, I could only imagine what the Gamemakers had in store for us.  
   
“Champions, for the first time in history, we are going to allow two Victors, if those two are from the same school.”  
   
Smiles grew—actual genuine smiles—on both mine and Draco's faces for the first time in as long as I could remember. We could both win—we could  _both_  go home. Draco grabbed me and we hugged each other closely, not wanting to make much noise that close to where we expected the others to be.  
   
“So,” Draco said quietly. “That leaves it between us and Durmstrang. The Russians won't let—”  
   
 _Bong._  
   
“Yes, that was probably Helena,” I added grimly.  
   
“Between us and Durmstrang, then.”  
   
“What's that noise?” I asked, looking behind us.  
   
“Fire!” Draco said, grabbing my arm. “Run!”  
   
We ran. The heat against our backs was overwhelming; spurring us on faster. The entire forest seemed to be on fire, advancing on us, driving us towards the centre. The cornucopia. The Russians. The finale.  
   
“Stop!” Draco said and I immediately complied.  
   
We were so close to the cornucopia, we could see it through the trees. The trees had thinned. There was no cover, but there was also no fire. Looking around, I could see the fire had stopped, as if it had hit an invisible wall.  
   
“They must have wanted us to end up here.”  
   
I nodded. “It's time for the final showdown. Ready?”  
   
Draco kissed me quickly. “Ready,” he said and we walked towards the clearing, wands out and fully alert.  
   
As we suspected, it was Oleg and Viktor who emerged from the cornucopia, wands raised and ready to fight.  
   
As we ran towards each other, I tried to think of what spells to use. My mind had gone blank. All I could think was Aberforth's words.  _Survive as long as possible._ Spells flew thick and fast between us, Draco's wand slashing through the air as I threw Protego after Protego around us. It was all I could think to do.  
   
It worked as well as if we'd planned it. Draco attacked as I defended. Obviously, the Russians had no such teamwork, as some of Draco's spells were hitting their mark, cuts appearing on the Russian's faces as slashes cut through the cloaks.  
   
I must have been a second too late, as Oleg stabbed his wand forward, and Draco went flying backwards. Seeing red, I felt like I had done with Gloria. I worked on instinct. Two words popped into my head.  _For enemies_.  
   
“ _Sectumsempra!”_  I cried.  
   
Blood immediately spurted from all over Oleg's body, as if a thousand invisible swords were stabbing him at once. I held on to my wand—and my breakfast—through sheer force of will. It was a horrific sight.  
   
 _Bong!_  
   
Viktor screamed, looking murderous as he advanced on me. I tried to cast the spell again, but it wouldn't work. I must have needed to be angry, and, at that moment, I was more frightened. But there was one spell I could  _always_ use. Something that had become a joke in school, with how often  I used in Duelling Club.  
   
“ _EXPELLIARMUS!”_  
   
The spell Viktor tried to cast fizzled out as his wand flew out of his hand. I caught it easily, but Viktor didn't stop. He wrenched the sword from his belt and ran towards me. I didn't have time to react—I wasn't expecting it.  
   
“ _Diffindo!”_  
   
Viktor stopped, the huge sword clattering to the ground in front of me as a red slit appeared at his throat, blood pumping out.  
   
 _Bong!_  
   
I turned slowly, almost collapsing in relief at the sight of Draco standing there, wand aloft, bloodied but otherwise alive.  
   
We staggered to one another, holding on to each other tightly.  
   
“We did it!”  
   
The musical chimes sounded and we both looked to the sky, more than ready for the announcement that we were Victors and could finally go home.  
   
Crane's voice boomed down on us, but he didn't speak words of congratulations.  
   
“The previous rule change has been revoked. As always, there can be only one Victor. This will be the only announcement.”  
   
I could have cried. If I had had any energy left in me, I probably would have. They couldn't do this. Not now. Not after everything we'd been through.  
   
“Wish we'd found that coin now.”  
   
I scoffed at Draco's words.  
   
“Do it, Draco. Please.”  
   
“What?  
   
“You win. You be Victor.”  
   
“No!”  
   
“I can't do it. I can't kill you.”  
   
“Well, I can't kill you either!”  
   
“You have to. You have your parents waiting for you.”  
   
“You have your friends. And they'd kill me anyway, for killing you.”  
   
I laughed humourlessly. Yes, he was probably right.  
   
“What are we going to do then? Kill ourselves?” I asked, trying to make light of the situation.  
   
“Yes!”  
   
 _What?_ “What?”  
   
“The potion!”  
   
“What potion?”  
   
Draco grabbed the blue-topped bottles out of the backpack. “This potion.”  
   
“You're not serious. And you said it wasn't fatal.”  
   
“It killed Belle, didn't it? At this concentration, it is more than enough to kill us. Both.”  
   
“Both?”  
   
“Yes. Why should they get a Victor?”  
   
“There's always a Victor. There  _has_  to be a Victor.” I honestly had no idea where Draco was going with this. There had never  _not_  been a Victor.  
   
“They need someone to parade around the world, to be their little show pony. What if they don't have that? What then?”  
   
“They'll get mad?” I offered.  
   
“And what are they going to do to us? We'll be dead.”  
   
Good point.  
   
“I don't want it, Harry.”  
   
I didn't want it either. I didn't want to end up like Aberforth. They'd screwed him over completely. He was brilliant, but he was broken; I didn't want to end up like that, and I didn't want Draco to end up like that either.  
   
“Okay,” I said, stepping close to him and taking one of the bottles from him. “How do we do this?”  
   
“Together?” Draco said, touching the bottles together as if it were a toast.  
   
“Together,” I agreed, raising the bottle to my lips.  
   
“STOP!” the booming voice of Seneca Crane filled the air. “STOP! Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in history, we have two Victors. Your Victors for this, the 74th Hunger Games: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy!”  
   
Draco and I dropped our bottles to the ground and threw our arms around each other. It was over. Finally, definitely, over. I held Draco tight and whispered the four words I didn't think I'd get the chance to say.  
   
“Let's go home. Together.”

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